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'Bo^TO'K-lEE&SHEfAHrFr 


The  Young  Dodge  Club. 


THE    WINGED    LtON 


OB. 


STORIES  OF  VENICE. 


BY 


PROF.  JAMES  DE  MILLE, 

AVmOB  OF  "THE   B.  O.  W.  a,"   "THE   BOYS   OP  OBAND   PHE   SOHOOL," 

"LOST    IN    THE    TOO,"    "  FIEB    IN    TIIK   WOOUS,"    '•PICKED 

in?  ADBIFT,"   "THE  TBEA8CBB  OF  THE  SEAS," 

"AMONG  THE  BBIQANIIS,"  ETC. 


ZJLIiUSTBATED, 


BOSTON : 

LEE    AND    SHEPARD,   PUBLISHERS. 

NETV  YORK  5 

CHASLES  T.  DILLINGHAM, 

1877. 


... ,  ,^'h,  -.i,^f,-r  ■    "..; 


•  ■:  r  J  ■■■■>- 


Electrotyped  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundry, 
No.  19  Spring  Lftoe. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A  Rash  Plan.  -  A  Mournful  Separation.  —  Truant  Boys.  '^" 

—  Breaking    Faith. -A    Surprise.  —  The   Beautiful 
Stranger.  —  Give  and   David   find  Themselves  the 
chosen  Protectors  of  Beauty  in  Distress.  .        .     „ 

CHAPTER   II. 

A  New  Friend.  —  The  Young  Artist.  -  A  Strange  Rail- 
way Station.  ~  A  Wonderful  City.  —  The  Grand  Canal. 

—  The   Winged   Lion.  — A  Story  of  St.   Mark  the 
Evangelist. —  Pleasant  Lodgings.        .        .        ,        . 

CHAPTER   111. 
St.  Mark's  and  its  Wonders.  -  The  Story  of  the  Demon 
Ship.  — The  Great  Barbarossa.  —  The  Artist's  Home. 

—  The  Two  Mysterious  Pictures 

CHAPTEF    IV. 

V^ernon  reads  to  his  Guests  the  Story  of  Antenore  and 
GalbajOji        .... 

8 


24 


39 


S3 


i  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Second  Story.  —  The  Wonderful  Adventures  of 
Soranzo 66 

CHAPTER  VI.      ''""'"    "' 

Poor  Old  Uncle  Moses.  —  Deep  Anxiety.  —  Pursuit  of 
the  Fugitives.  —  Bologna.  —  Ferrara.  —  Padua.  —  The 
Track  lost.  —  Heroic  Resolve  of  Uncle  Moses.  —  On 
to  Venice.     • 87 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Pleasant  Party  in  Venice.  —  How  to  find  a  Missing 
Relative.  —  The  Story  of  the  Beheaded  Doge.    .  ,^,,^    99 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Dungeons  of  the  Inquisition.  — The  Bridge  of  Sighs. 
—  The  Story  of  a  Life-long  Vengeance.       .        .        .  109 

CHAPTER   IX. 

A  Race  Three  Hundred  Feet  up  into  the  Air.  —  The 
Story  of  the  Origin  of  Venice.  —  The  Story  of  the 
Jealous  Artist i»8 

CHAPTER  X. 

Another  Call  on  the  Police,  with  the  Result  thereof.  — 
The  Story  of  the  Ambitious  Money- Lender,  and  his 
Malignant  Plot .  134 

CHAPTER  XL 
The  Story  of  Fatima.      .        .        .        ,        .        •        .  151 


CONTENTS.  6 

CHAPTER   XII. 

Uncle  Moses  still  on  the  Search.  —  On  to  Venice.  —  The 
Hotel  Zeno.  —  Distressing  Disappointment.  —  A  Visit 
♦o  the  Venetian  Police.  —  Frank  and  Bob  go  the 
Rounds.  —  A  Wonderful  City. —  Lost.         .        .        .17a 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Early  Bird  catches  the  Worm.  —  Bob's  Early  Rising, 
and  what  came  of  it.  —  A  Bath  in  the  Grand  Canal.  — 
The  Approach  of  the  Enemy.  —  Flight  and  Pursuit.  — 
The  Dungeons  of  Venice 184 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Another  Lost  Boy.  —  Terror  and  Despair  of  Uncle  Moses. 
—  A  Wild  Search.  —  Another  Visit  to  the  Police. — 
New  Disappointment.  —  The  End  of  it  all.  .        .  191 

CHAPTER   XV. 
New  Wanderings  and  more  Stories.  —  The  Espousals  of 
the  Adriatic.  —  The  Capture  of  Constantinople.  .        .  202 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

Up  the  Grand  Canal.  —  The  Rialto.  —  The  old  Original 
Ballad  of  Shylock.  —  The  Conspiracy  of  Thiepolo.      .  220 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

The  Outer  Sea.  —  A  Distant  View  of  Venice.  —  The 
Brides  of  Venice  —  The  Story  of  the  War  of  Chiozza.  234 

CHAPTER  XVIIL 

Afloat.  — In  a  Gondola.  —  Romantic  Situation.  —  The 
Story  of  the  Three  Artists 251 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Vernon  Visits  the  Police.  —  Strange  Tidings.  — Off  to  the 
Hotel  Zeno.  —  Disappointment. — Clive  and  David  find 
out  the  Error  of  their  Ways.        .        .   '     ,        .        .  261 

CHAPTER   XX. 

The  End  of  Happiness.  —  The  Cheerful  Vernon.  —  Gra- 
de's Resolution.  —  A  Lost  Day. — Verona. —  Inquiries. 

» 

—  The  Right  Track. — The  Amphitheatre  at  Sunset. 

—  An  Interesting  Conversation.  ....  272 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Mournful  Uncle  Moses,  — Marius  among  the  Ruins 
of  Carthage.  —  Uncle  Moses  startled.  —  A  New  Ac- 
quaintance  283 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

Wonderful  Change  in  Uncle  Moses.  —  The  New  Friend. 

—  New  Resolves.  —  Application  4o  the  Police.  .        .294 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Clive  and  David.  —  Unwelcome  Visitors.  —  Arrested.  — 
Hauled  to  Prison.  —  The  Dungeons  of  Venice.  —  De- 
spair of  the  Captives 301 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Police  once  more.  —  An  Affecting  Meeting.  —  Grand 
Reunion  at  the  Hotel  Zeno.  —  Uncle  Moses  causes  a 
Great  Surprise 312 


THE  YOUNO  DODOE  CLUB. 
III. 

THE    WINGED    LION; 

OB, 

STORIES    OF    VENICE. 


«^«»  > 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  rash  Plan.  —  A  mournful  Separation.  —  Truant  Boys. 
— Breaking  Faith.  —  A  Surprise.  -^  The  beautiful  Stran- 
ger. —  Clive  and  David  find  themselves  the  chosm  Pro- 
jectors of  Beauty  in  Distress. 

FTER  spending  a  few  weeks  in  Florence, 
Uncle  Moses  and  his  young  friends  began 
to  discuss  the  important  question  of  tlieir 
next  movements ;  and  here  a  difficulty  arose  which 
led  to  many  odd  adventures.  As  for  Uncle  Moses, 
that  worthy  man  would  gladly  have  left  Italy  alto- 
gether, and  gone  on  as  fast  as  possible  to  his  desti- 
nation ;  but  the  very  hint  of  such  a  thing  roused 
so  great  a  storm  of  opposition  and  reproach  that 
he  did  not  press  it  further.  Leave  Italy,  indeed  I 
That  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  They  had  man^ 
places  still  to  visit,  and  many  adventures  still  to 
encounter.    Bologna,  Ferrara,  Padua,  Milan,  Turin, 

11 


12  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Genoa, — all  these  cities  lay  before  them;  and  great- 
er than  all,  one  which  drew  them  onward  with  a 
stronger  fascination.  For  of  all  the  cities  of  the 
old  world  none  had  ever  seemed  so  attractive 
and  80  wonderful  as  Venice.  Its  unique  situation ; 
its  romantic  history ;  its  splendid  monuments ;  its 
canals,  gondolas,  towers,  and  palaces;  its  dark 
secrets ;  its  alluring  mystery, — all  served  to  throw 
a  spell  over  their  minds. 

There  was  but  one  opinion,  therefore,  among  the 
boys  as  to  Venice ;  but  their  views  were  widely 
different  as  to  the  time  of  starting.  Frank  and 
Bob  preferred  waiting  in  Florence  for  another 
week,  and  then  going  straight  to  Venice  without 
stopping  at  the  intervening  cities;  Clive  and 
David,  on  the  other  hand,  much  as  they  loved 
Florence,  were  anxious  to  visit  Bologna,  Ferrara, 
and  Padua.  Prolonged  argument  only  made  each 
side  more  eager  in  the  assertion  of  its  own  prefer- 
ences. The  question  was  argued  long  and  hotly, 
and  only  ended  in  each  side  maintaining  its  own 
view,  and  blaming  the  other  for  obstinacy. 

David  and  Clive  talked  the  matter  over,  and  at 
length  came  to  an  important  decision.  This  was, 
to  go  on  ahead,  leaving  the  others  behind.  They 
could  then  visit  the  intervening  cities,  and  after- 
wards they  could  all  join  one  another  at  Padua  or 
Venice.  But  to  this  plan  it  was  first  necessary  to 
obtain  Uncle  Moses'  consent.  - 

No  sooner  was  it  ijientioned  than  Uncle  Moses 


A   MOURNFUL  SEPARATION.  13 

'ourst  forth  with  exclamations  of  amazement  and 
h^  rvor.  "  To  separate  ! "  *  he  cried.  *'  Never  1 " 
He  declared  that  it  would  be  ruin  to  all  of  them, 
and  that  his  anxiety  would  be  the  death  of  him. 
Clive  and  David  were  prepared  for  this  refusal; 
30  they  waited  patiently  till  the  first  storm  had 
passed,  and  then  returned  to  the  charge.  They 
teased  and  coaxed,  and  tried  to  show  their  timid 
relative  that  his  fears  were  groundless.  Frank 
and  Bob  thought  it  a  good  idea,  and  magnani- 
mously joined  the  others  in  their  efforts  to  per- 
suade. Before  this  combined  attack  Uncle  Moses 
grew  more  yielding,  and  at  length,  in  a  moment  of 
weakness,  was  rash  enough  to  give  something  like 
an  assent. 

But  in  assenting  to  their  proposal  he  made  some 
stipulations.  One  was,  that  they  should  not  go 
farther  than  Bologna.  Another  was,  that  they 
should  all  join  one  another  in  two  or  three  days. 
These  terms  were  agreed  to,  and  Clive  and  David 
in  great  glee  began  to  prepare  for  their  departure. 

But  in  the  mind  of  Uncle  Moses  there  was  some- 
thing very  different  from  glee.  No  sooner  had  his 
reluctant  assent  been  wrung  from  him  than  heavy 
clouds  of  anxiety  began  to  roll  over  that  good 
man's  gentle  heart  He  repented  greatly,  and 
tried  to  dissuade  them.  He  told  them  that  they 
were  too  young,  and  that  they  could  not  be 
trusted  alone  on  such  a  journey.  To  this  Clive 
and    David  replied   with  a  laugh,  and  informed 


14  THE  WINGED  LION. 

Uncle  Moses  that  he  was  the  only  one  of  the  party 
who  was  in  any  danger  when  alone. 

And  so  there  was,  on  the  side  of  Uncle  Moses, 
a  very  mournful  parting. 

"You'll  be  sure  and  take  care  of  yourselves,  dear 
boys/'  he  wailed  forth,  as  he  bade  them  good  by  at 
the  station. 

"  0,  yes,"  was  the  cheery  reply ;  "  and  mind, 
Uncle  Moses,  don't  you  go  and  get  into  trouble." 

These  were  their  last  words :  the  train  rolled 
ofif,  and  Uncle  Moses  went  back  to  his  lodgings 
with  his  heart  full  of  sadness,  and  his  mind  full  of 
dismal  forebodings. 

The  two  boys  felt  full  of  delight  at  thus  start- 
ing off  alone.  Their  minds  were  full  of  a  glorious 
sense  of  freedom ;  and  the  only  che'^k  upon  their 
joy  was  the  thought  that  this  freedom  was  to  be 
of  such  short  duration.  Still  they  determined  to 
make  the  most  of  it  while  it  lasted  ;  and  with  this 
laudable  design  they  began,  even  in  the  railway 
carriage,  to  give  vent  to  their  exuberant  spirits, 
to  the  slight  surprise  of  other  passengers.  They 
sang  songs  ;  they  screamed  ;  they  made  gestures  ; 
they  tol  i  stories  ;  they  quoted  poetry  ;  and  every 
minute  made  some  plan  which,  on  the  following 
minute,  was  superseded  by  another  new  one.  In 
this  frame  oi  mind  they  reached  Bologna. 

On  stepping  forth  from  the  cars  they  found,  to 
their  disappointment,  that  the  weather  had  changed. 
The  brilliant  sunshine  and  deep  blue  skies  of  Flor- 


VISIT  TO  BOLOGNA.  16 

ence  were  no  longer  to  be  seen.  Instead  ot  this, 
they  saw  overhead  nothing  but  dull;  leaden- colored 
clouds,  while  a  thick  drizzle  filled  the  air.  As 
they  went  to  the  hotel,  they  saw  that  Bologna  was 
a  gloomy  city,  with  dull-gray  houses  and  narrow 
streets,  and  with  nothing  whatever  to  alleviate 
this  depressing  exterior.  However,  they  strug- 
gled against  their  feelings  of  despondency,  and 
after  dinner  they  went  out  to  see  the  town. 

Two  or  three  hours'  walk  in  a  drizzling  rain, 
and  visits  to  dreary  churches,  did  not  reconcile 
them  to  Bologna.  On  their  return  to  the  hotel, 
they  both  came  to  the  opinion  that  Bologna  might 
be  a  very  good  place  for  sausages,  but  that  it  was 
a  very  mean  place  for  tomiots.  The  prospect  of 
waiting  here  for  three  long  days  was  most  miser- 
able ;  so  miserable,  indeed,  that  they  thought  of 
going  back  to  Florence. 

It  was  David  who  first  proposed  another  plan. 
That  plan  was  to  go  on  to  Ferrara. 

"  It's  a  magnificent  city,"  said  David  ;  "  full  of 
palaces  and  historical  associations.  There  Tasso 
lived,  and  Ariosto.     Let's  go  there." 

"  But  we  promised  Uncle  Moses  to  wait  at  Bo- 
logna," objected  Clive. 

"  Certainly,"  said  David.  "  We'll  come  back 
here  again,  and  meet  them.  But  just  now,  in- 
stead r "  staying  in  this  gloomy  hole,  it  will  be  a 
great  deal  better  to  spend  the  time  in  some  decent 
place." 


16  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  Clive.  "Ml  be  all  the 
same,  of  course;  to  Uncle  Moses." 

"  Of  course,"  said  David  ;  "  he  merely  wants  to 
meet  us  here." 

So  they  agreed  upon  this,  and  the  next  morning 
went  on  to  Ferrara  full  of  high  hopes. 

On  reaching  Ferrara  they  found  themselves  in 
a  dreary  city,  with  wide  grass-grown  streets,  on 
which  but  few  people  were  visible.  There  was  a 
depressing  dullness  about  the  place,  against  which 
it  was  impossible  to  struggle.  Added  to  this  was 
the  hateful  drizzle  which  had .  followed  them  as 
if  on  purpose  to  disappoint  and  humiliate  them. 
They  tried  to  keep  up  their  spirits,  but  in  vain. 
They  visited  the  churches,  they  looked  with  lack- 
lustre eyes  at  the  cell  of  Tasso,  and  strolled  lan- 
guidly through  the  Museum.  After  this  they  went 
to  the  railway  station,  as  though  the  most  attrac- 
tive place  in  Ferrara  was  the  way  that  led  out  of  it. 
Here  they  studied  the  time-tables,  and  neither  said 
a  word. 

"  At  two  o'clock,"  said  David,  suddenly,  "  the 
train  goes  through  for  Padua." 

"  Well,"  said  Clive. 

"  I  wonder  why  we  mayn't  go  to  Padua,"  said 
David,  innocently.  "  We  can  stay  the  night,  and 
come  back  to  Bologna  to-morrow,  and  meet  Uncle 
Moses." 

"  Will  Uncle  Moses  leave  Florence  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No,  nut  till  the  day  alter.  We  were  to  have 
three  days,  and  he  would  leave  on  the  fourth." 


ARBIVAL  IN  PADUA.  17 

"  Well,"  said  Clive,  "  we  may  as  well  be  in  Padua 
as  in  Ferrara." 

"  A  great  deal  better,"  said  David.  "  For  my 
part,  1  can't  stand  this  place  any  longer.  It's 
worse  than  Bologna." 

"  Ten  times  worse,"  said  Clive. 

The  boys  now  went  back  to  the  hotel,  got  their 
little  valise,  which  contained  all  their  luggage  and 
then,  returning  to  the  station,  waited  for  the  train. 
It  came  in  due  time,  and  so  they  soon  found  them- 
selves in  Padua.  But  although  they  had  hoped  for 
some  b  ter  fortune  in  this  city,  they  were  doomed 
to  disap^. ointment.  The  drizzling  rain  still  con- 
tinued, and  they  had  grown  so  weary  of  churches 
and  museums  that  they  uid  not  care  to  visit  any 
more.  They  strolled  through  the  streets  till  they 
were  tired,  and  finally  took  refuge  in  the  magnifi- 
cent Caf^  Pedrocchi,  where  they  ordered  a  sumptu- 
ous dinner,  and  whiled  away  the  time  till  dark. 

Over  this  repast  they  began  to  grow  refreshed, 
and  amused  themselves  with  discussing  the  situ- 
ation. 

"  And  so,"  said  David,  "  we  have  to  go  back  to- 
morrow. Well,  all  that  I  can  say  is,  we've  had  a 
mean  sort  of  excursion." 

^'  It'll  never  do  to  own  up  to  Frank  and  Bob," 
said  Clive.     "  We  must  hold  our  tongues." 

"  I  dare  say  they've  had  no  end  of  fun,"  said 
David,   gloomily.      "  Florence   is   such   a  perfect 
paradise.     What  fools  we  were  1 " 
2 


18  THE  WINGED   LION. 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  time,  iu  which  each 
one  meditated  over  his  late  folly. 

"  I  say,  Dave,"  said  Clive,  at  length. 

"  What  ? '' 

"  Suppose  we  go  on  to  Venice." 

"  What  I  "  cried  David,  in  amazement. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Clive,  "  I've  been  thinking 
about  it  all  day." 

"  Well,  for  tliat  matter,"  said  David,  "  so  have  I." 

"  You  see,"  said  Clive,  "  Bologna  is  such  a  hor- 
rible place  that  I  never  want  to  see  it  again." 

"  No  more  do  I." 

"  I'd  rather  wait  here  than  go  back.  But  since 
we  are  here,  why,  we  might  as  well  go  on  at  once 
to  Venice." 

"  But  what'U  Uncle  Moses  do  ?  " 

"  0,  we  can  write  him." 

"  W'lere  ?    At  Bologna  ?  "       ' 

"  No  ;  Florence.  lie  won't  leave  till  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  We  can  write  to-night.  He'll 
get  our  letter  to-morrow.  We'll  tell  him  all  about 
it,  and  where  we  are  going." 

"  Capital ! "  cried  David.  "  I  thought  of  Venice, 
too ;  but  somehow  it  didn't  seem  fair  to  Uncle 
Moses,  Of  course  his  anxiety  is  only  his  timidity. 
We  can  go  round  the  world  safe  enough.  If  we 
write  him,  it  will  be  all  that  is  wanted.  He  may 
just  as  well  meet  us  at  Venice  as  at  Bologna." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Clive  ;  "  and  then,  you  know, 
neither  Frank  nor  Bob  wants  to  go  bothering  about 


LETTER  TO   UNCLE   MOSES.  19 

these  stupid  towns.  They'll  be  glad  to  have  it  all 
settled  in  this  way.  And  Uncle  Moses'U  be  just 
as  glad  as  the  others,  for  he  thinks  every  town  that 
he  misses  so  much  gain  for  himself.  We're  almost 
as  near  at  Venice  as  at  Bologna ;  and  we'll  save 
them  from  a  fit  of  the  blues." 

That  night  the  boys  concocted  a  letter.  Clive 
wrote  it.  The  letter  was  not  very  long.  It  gave 
a  brief  account  of  their  proceedings,  and  of  their 
intention  to  go  to  Venice.  They  mentioned  a 
hotel,  the  name  of  which  they  learned  from  their 
landlord ;  and  in  this  way  they  arranged  every- 
thing for  Uncle  Moses,  so  that  he  could  find  them 
without  any  difficulty.  They  knew  that  they  were 
violating  the  strict  letter  of  their  promise  to  Uncle 
Moses,  but  they  thought  that  they  were  keeping  it 
in  a  general  way,  and  that  it  would  be  all  right  so 
long  as  they  had  arranged  to  meet  at  the  specified 
time.  After  all,  Venice  would  be  a  better  place 
for  their  reunion  than  Bologna. 

That  night  they  mailed  the  letter,  and  the  next 
day  they  were  rolling  away  in  the  train  for  Venice, 
which  was  only  forty  miles  away. 

On  entering  the  train  they  found  themselves  in 
a  compartment  with  two  others  —  a  gentleman  and 
a  lady.  The  lady  was  very  young  and  exceedingly 
pretty,  with  a  very  sweet  face  and  a  profusion  of 
blonde  hair.  She  looked  rather  sad,  and  both  the 
boys  felt  themselves  drawn  towards  the  beautiful 
stranger  with  feelings  of  deep  sympathy.     She  did 


20  THE  WINGED   LION.  t 

''1 

not  look  like  an  Itulijin,  but  rather  Mko  an  English 
lady ;  or  still  more,  like  an  American.  What  iiiade 
them  take  a  deeper  interest  in  her  was  the  fact 
that  she  looked  at  them  very  earnestly,  and  f.«eemed 
^8  though  she  would  like  to  speak  to  them. 

Tlie  other  passenger  was  a  young  mnn  with  a 
fine  frank  face,  dark  hair  rather  long,  and  dark 
eyes,  which  rested  occasionally  on  the  boys  with 
a  glance  of  kindly  sympathy,  mingled  with  mirth- 
fulness.  Tiie  lady  and  the  gentleman  were  evi- 
dently not  acquainted,  for  they  were  seated  at  a 
distance  from  one  another,  and  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  compartment.  David  and  Clive  took  the 
middle  seats,  sitting  opposite  to  each  other,  and 
Clive  was  thus  brought  within  sight  of  the  lady. 

This  lady  looked  at  him  very  often,  and  very 
fixedly,  occasionally  stealing  a  glance  at  David. 
Clive  admired  her  face  very  much.  She  was  evi- 
dently very  young,  for  her  face  was  girlish,  and 
she  had  a  timid  way  about  her  which  made  him 
wonder. 

At  last  the  lady  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to 
him. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  Venice  ? "  she 
asked,  in  a  sweet,  low  voice. 

"  0,  w^ell,  not  very  much,"  said  Clive,  wishing  to 
be  of  assistance  to  her,  and  not  cari:ag  to  confess 
his  ignorance.  From  the  tone  of  hei*  voice  Clive 
knew  at  once  that  she  was  an  American  lady,  and 
80  his  interest  in  her  grew  stronger  than  ever. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  8TRAKGEB.  21 

"  If  there  is  anything  that  I  can  do,"  he  added,  "  I 
shall  be  very  happy  indeed." 

"  You  are  from  America  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  Yes,"  said  Clive,  "  from  Boston." 

"  0, 1  am  so  glad  I "  said  she.  "  I've  been  so 
awfully  frightened  I  and  I  am  yet.  I  was  going  to 
Venice  with  my  aunt.  We  left  Milan  early  this 
"morning.  She  got  out  at  Verona  for  something, 
and  told  me  not  to  leave  the  train  till  she  should 
come  back.  I  waited  —  when  suddenly  the  train 
left.  My  poor  aunt' did  not  come.  She  must  have 
been  left  behind.  At  first  I  thought  of  getting  out 
at  the  next  station,  and  going  back ;  but,  then,  I 
don't  know  Italian,  and  I  thought  that  dear  auntie 
would  come  after  me.  I  was  dreadfully  terrified 
and  confused,  and  so  I've  been  coming  on,  with  a 
vague  idea  of  waiting  for  her  at  Venice.  It  seems 
to  me  that  it  will  be  the  wiser  course."  ^ 

"  0,  yes,"  said  Clive,  who  was  fuller  of  sympathy 
than  ever,  "  I  should  think  that  it  was  your  best 
plan." 

"  We  know  of  a  very  nice  hotel  at  Venicfe," 
chimed  in  David.  "  We  are  going  there  to  wait 
for  our  friends,  who  are  coming  to  join  us  to- 
morrow." 

"  And  you  can  stay  at  the  same  place,"  said 
Clive,  "  and  wait  for  your  aunt." 

"  It's  the  Hotel  Zeno,"  said  D^vid.  "  It's  a  very 
comfortable  hotel.  Our  landlord  at  Padua  recom- 
mended it  highly." 


I 


22  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"  O,  thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  lady  :  "  I'll 
go  with  you.  I'm  very  glad  that  I've  met  with 
you.  You  remind  mo  of  my  two  dear  little  broth- 
ers at  home.  I'm  not  a  bit  troubled  about  myself, 
but  I'm  so  dreadfully  worried  Joout  poor  dear 
auntie  ;  for,  you  know,  she  doesn't  know  anything 
about  travelling,  and  I'm  afraid  she'll  go  out  of 
her  senses  when  she  finds  herself  left  behind,  and 
separated  from  me." 

"  0,  well,"  said  Clive,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll 
do  ;  we'll  send  back  telegrams  immediately." 

The  mention  of  telegrams  seemed  to  give  great 
relief  to  the  little  lady.  She  thanked  them,  and 
told  them  that  they  had  taken  a  great  load  off  lier 
minjd.  And  now  they  all  chatted  together  like 
children.  For  the  young  lady  was  herself  but  just 
out  of  girlhood,  and  had  all  the  simplicity  and  inno- 
cence of  that  sweet  season.  Clive  and  David  wore 
charmed  beyond  all  expression  by  her  lovely  faca 
and  her  winning  ways.  They  grew  lapidly  inti- 
mate, as  boys  and  girls  generally  do,  and  Clive  and 
David  told  all  about  themselves,  and  their  new 
friend  told  all  about  herself. 

Her  name  was  Gracie  Lee.  She  insisted  that 
they  should  call  her  by  her  Christian  name. 

"  If  you  were  grown-up  young  men,"  said  she, 
"  I  should  not  have  dared  to  speak  to  you ;  but 
you  are  boys,  and  you  are  so  like  my  little  broth- 
ers that  when  you  came  in  I  could  have  cried  for 
joy.     And  'I'm  not  so  very  much  older  than  you, 

I 


THE  8T*..iNGER'fl   PHOTECTORS.  23 

either ;  bo  I'll  pretend  that  you  are  my  brothers, 
Fred  and  Harry,  only  I'll  call  you  by  your  own 
names." 

All  this  was  delightful  to  such  romantic  boys  as 
Clive  and  David.  Here  was  an  adventure  far  dif- 
ferent from  their  old  ones  ;  this  lovely  little  stran- 
ger, who  looked  out  at  them  so  sweetly  witli  her 
blue  eyes,  and  dimpled  cheeks,  and  golden  hair. 
They  were  all  young  and  fresh,  and  unspoiled  by 
the  world ;  and  being  thrown  upon  one  another  in 
this  way,  ic  made  them  feel  like  old  friends.  Gracie 
felt  all  her  anxiety  removed  ;  and  Clive  and  David 
had  a  fine  sense  of  responsibility,  for  Gracie  had 
thrown  herself  upon  their  protection,  and  looked  to 
them  to  find  her  lost  relative.  This,  of  course,  they 
both  felt  sure  of  doing. 


24  THE    WINGED    LION. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  new  Friend.  —  The  young  Artist.  —  A  strange  Railway 
Station.  —  A  wonderful  City.  —  The  Grand  Canal.  — 
The  Winged  Lion.  —  A  Story  of  St.  Mark  the  Evangelist. 
—  Pleasant  Lodgings, 

(HE  young  man  who  ^7as  sitting  opposite  to 
David  had  heard  every  word  of  the  conver- 
sation; and  had  at  times  stolen  glances  at 
the  sweet  face  of  Gracie  Lee,  without  venturing, 
however,  to  intrude  himself  upon  her.  At  length, 
as  David's  eyes  wandered  about,  he  caught  sight 
of  the  stranger,  who  was  looking  at  him  with  a 
careless  smile. 

"  You  have  never  been  in  Venice  before  —  have 
you  ?  "  said  the  stranger. 

"  No,"  said  David,  who  could  not  help  taking  a 
liking  to  the  young  man,  both  on  account  of  his 
face  and  the  tone  of  his  voice. 

*'  It's  rather  an  awkward  place  to  land  in,"  said 
the  other.  "  I'm  an  old  inhabitant,  and  if  there's 
anything  I  can  do,  why,  I  can  only  say  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  do  it." 

^  "  Why,  you  must  be  an  American,"  said  David, 
in  surprise,  as  his  ear  detected  the  beloved  intona- 
tions and  accent  of  hia  native  land. 


THE  YOUNG  ARTIST,  25 

"  0,  yes,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  laugh,  "  I 
was  born  under  the  shadow  of  the  State  House,  and 
was  raised  in  the  Boston  Latin  School.  I'm  an 
artist  —  living  here  with  ray  mother.  I've  been 
living  in  Venice  two  or  three  years  —  studying 
Titian,  you  know.'' 

"  How  splendid  1 "  said  David,  to  whom  an  artist 
studying  Titian  seemed  almost  like  an  angelic 
being. 

Gracie  stole  a  sh/  look  at  the  stranger,  and  then 
whispered  to  Clive,  — 

"  How  fanny  1    He's  from  Boston,  too  1 " 

"  My  name,"  said  the  stranger,  "  is  Vernon  — 
F:ul  Vernon.  I  know  yours  already,  you  know, 
as  you've  been  mentioning  it ;  and  if  you're  going 
to  stay  at  Venice  for  any  length  of  time,  why,  per- 
haps you  would  like  to  see  the  city.  I'll  give  you 
my  address,  and  show  you  the  sights." 

David  was  delighted  at  this.  What  guide  could 
be  equal  to  an  artist  —  and  an  American?  He 
thanked  Vernon  very  emphatically.  Vernon  went 
on  talking  in  a  very  pleasant  way  about  Venice, 
i*xid  David  liked  him  better  and  better  every  mo- 
ment. So  David  and  Vernon  talked,  while  Gracie 
and  Clive  carried  on  another  conversation  by  them- 
selves ;  yet  both  heard  every  word  that  Vernon 
said. 

At  length  they  reached  Venice.  Vernon  in- 
formed David  that  he  would  get  a  boat,  and  that  he 
would  go  with  them  as  ^  -^  •>•*  the  Hotel  Zeno.    This 


26  THE  WINGED  LION. 

was  not  altogether  intelligible  to  David,  who 
thought  rather  of  taking  a  cab ;  but  soon  his  mean- 
ing was  apparent.  For  on  emerging  from  the  sta- 
tion, the  party  found  themselves  not  on  a  street, 
but  a  canal ;  while  before  them  there  was  a  large 
number  of  gondolas,  with  that  peculiar  shape  which 
had  become  familiar  to  their  eyes  from  pictures. 
Some  of  these  were  of  large  size,  and  had  the  word 
Omnibus  painted  on  the  outside.  All  the  rest  were 
painted  black,  and  had  a  little  cabin  at  the  stern, 
with  a  canopy  over  it  formed  of  black  cloth.  One 
of  these  Vernon  had  engaged. 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,  Miss  Lee,''  said 
Vernon,  approaching  Gracie  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
"  if  I  do  not  stand  upon  ceremony.  But  in  the  cars 
I  couldn't  help  hearing  what  you  said ;  and  as  I 
know  all  about  this  country,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
I  could  be  of  service  to  you  towards  finding  your 
aunt.  I  know  the  chief  of  police  here,  and  I  can 
get  them  to  send  off  messengers  to  Verona  —  that 
is,  if  your  aunt  does  not  turn  up.  Meanwhile  I 
can  make  myself  useful  by  showing  you  where  tlie 
hotel  is.  My  mother  is  living  here,  and  I  think  she 
knows  some  of  your  people  in  Boston,  and  I'm  sure 
you  would  like  to  see  her.  You  know  Venice  is 
like  a  ship  at  sea,  and  we  Americans  who  live  here 
always  feel  our  hearts  grow  warm  towards  any  of 
our  fellow-countrymen." 

It  was  v^.ite  evident  that  Vernon's  last  words 
were  true  as  far  as  regarded  one  at  least  of  the 


A  WONDERFUL  CITY.  27 

people  of  his  native  land ;  for  his  heart  did  certainly 
feel  .an  unusual  warmth  as  he  spoke  to  his  fair 
young  fellow- citizen.  As  for  Gracie,  she  seemed 
much  pleased. 

"  0,  thank  you,"  said  she ;  "  that  will  be  very 
nice  indeed,  if  you  really  could  manage  to  send 
some  one." 

"  0,  I'll  manage  it,"  said  Vernon,  eagerly ;  "  for 
that  matter,  I'll  go  myself.  So  you  need  not  give 
yourself  any  further  anxiety.  Tliink  of  Italy  as 
though  it  were  Massachusetts.  Travelling  here  is 
just  as  safe,  and  easy,  and  simple,  as  there.  Yi)ur 
aunt  will  be  well  cared  for  wherever  she  is,  and  I 
hope  that  you  will  find  yourself  well  cared  for,  too." 

Gmcie  felt  very  grateful,  and  could  not  help 
thinking  that  it  was  very  fortunate  for  her  to  have 
found  some  one  who  was  so  well  able  to  hunt  up 
her  lost  aunt.  Vernon's  manner,  too,  was  so  cor- 
dial, so  devoted,  and  withal  so  respectful,  that  her 
natural  timidity  was  quickly  dispelled,  and  she 
found  herself  talking  with  this  new  acquaintance 
with  the  utmost  ease  and  confidence. 

Soon  they  were  all  in  the  be  i,  and  moving  along 
through  this  wonderful  city.  The  first  thing  that 
they  noticed  was  the  marvellous  stillness  around 
them.  In  other  cities  there  are  always  the  noise  of 
wagons  passing  over  stone  pavements,  the  cries 
of  people,  and  the  confused  murmur  formed  out  of 
all  the  aggregated  sounds  of  a  busy  multitude. 
But  here  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind.    All  was 


28  THE  WINGED  LION. 

still.  The  streets  were  streets  of  water.  Water 
was  the  pavement.  Over  this  glided  all  the  people 
in  boats,  noiselessly.  Foot-passen  ors,  carriages, 
wagons,  carts,  horses,  all  the  varied  modes  of  trans- 
portation common  to  other  cities,  were  here  reduced 
to  one  uniform  fashion  —  the  fashion  of  rowing  in 
boats.  The  gondoliers  stood  and  propelled  the 
boats  by  pushing  with  their  oars.  The  streets  were 
real  streets,  after  all ;  lor  on  each  side  rose  lofty 
houses,  whose  windows  looked  out  upon  these 
streets,  as  in  other  cities.  Their  doors  opened  out 
on  the  street  also;  but  here,  if  one  wished  to  leave 
his  house,  he  had  to  step  from  the  front  door  into 
a  gondola. 

In  this  way  they  passed  along.  Other  boats 
were  going  in  the  same  direction.  All  was  silent, 
and  the  silence  was  never  broken  by  any  sound, 
except  at  times,  when,  on  turning  a  corner,  the  gon- 
dolier would  utter  a  peculiar  cry,  to  give  notice  to 
any  boat  that  might  be  coming  from  an  opposite 
direction. 

"  I  say,  Dave,"  said  Clive,  "  this  sort  of  thing  is 
a  little  ahead  of  Bologna,  and  Ferrara,  and  Padua." 

"  I  bot  it  is,"  said  David,  who  enjoyed  the  situa- 
tion as  much  as  Clive. 

At  length  the  gondola  shot  out  from  a  narrow 
canal  into  one  which  was  four  times  as  broad  as 
any  which  they  had  thus  far  seen.  The  view  here 
was  magnificent.  On  either  side  rose  stately  man- 
sions, whose   marble  fronts  were  displayed  with 


THE  GRAND  CANAL.  29 

lavish  adoniments,  and  in  richly  decorated  styles 
of  architecture.  Boats  passed  up  and  down,  enli- 
vening the  scene.  In  the  distance,  above  the  tall- 
est houses,  rose  a  lofty  tower. 

"  I  know  this  place,"  said  Clive.  "  It  must  be 
the  Grand  Canal." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vernon,  "  you  are  right.  There's 
nothing  like  this  in  any  other  city." 

At  length  the  boat  stopped  before  a  mansion, 
whose  marble  front,  adorned  with  splendid  decor^i- 
tions,  rose  for  many  stories  above  them.  Marble 
steps  afforded  an  entrance  from  the  gondola,  through 
a  lordly  portico,  into  the  mansion. 

''  Is  this  the  Hotel  Zeno  ?  "  asked  Clive. 

"^Yes,"  said  VernoUj  "  It  was  once  the  Zeno 
Palace ;  but  most  of  the  Venetian  palaces  are  now 
hotels  and  boarding-houses ;  and  the  name  of  the 
greatest  of  all  the  Venetian  heroes  is  now  fallen  to 
this.     But  such  is  life. 

*  Imperial  Cajsar,  dead  and  turned  to  clay, 
May  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away.' 

And  so  most  people  now  only  think  of  Carlo  Zeno 
in  connection  with  this  hotel." 

They  now  entered,  and  all  were  shown  to  very 
handsome  apartments.  Vernon  went  away,  prom- 
ising to  see  them  again  before  long. 

He  kept  his  promise.  Before  an  hour  had  passed 
he  was  back  again.  This  time  he  brought  with 
bun  an  elderly  lady,  whom  he  introduced  as  his 


30  THE  WINGED   LION. 

mother.  She  had  a  soft,  low  voice,  and  a  sweet 
and  gracious  face,  which  at  once  gained  their 
hearts.  Gracie  especially  felt  the  quiet  charm  of 
this  dear  old  lady,  and  before  long  they  were  wan- 
dering in  thought  far  away,  and  Mrs.  Vernon  was 
telling*  Gracie  of  her  past  life  in  Boston,  and  ask- 
ing after  Boston  news.  Vernon  talked  with  the 
boys,  but  kept  his  ears  and  eyes  open,  and  noticed 
everything  that  Gracie  said  or  did. 

And  now  a  new  arrangement  was  made.  Mrs. 
Vernon  insisted  that  Gracie  should  go  home  with 
her,  and  stay  with  her  until  her  aunt  should  come 
to  Venice.  A  young  girl  like  Gracie,  she  said, 
should  not  be  left  alone  without  friends  in  a  great 
hotel.  Her  persuasions  were  not  without  effect. 
Gracie  herself  felt  a  little  timid  at  the  idea  of  being 
all  alone,  with  no  friends  except  Clive  and  David, 
and  Mrs.  Vernon  seemed  to  her  like  a  mother. 
And  so,  with  many  apologies  and  excuses,  she  at 
last  accepted  the  kind  invitation.  Meanwhile  Ver- 
non had  been  giving  the  same  invitation  to  the 
boys.  At  first  they  declined  with  many  thanks; 
but  Vernon  was  so  urgent  that  at  last  they  ac- 
cepted it,  and  at  length  the  whole  party  retired 
from  the  Hotel  Zeno. 

And  now,  once  more  in  a  boat,  they  passed  down 
the  Grand  Canal,  which  presented  a  more  striking 
appearance  as  they  went  on.  At  length  the  canal 
Ijroadeued  into  a  wide  expanse  of  water ;  and  close 
by,  on  their  left,  they  saw  a  landing-place,  which 


THE  EMBLEM  OF  VENICE.  31 

seemed  to  lead  to  a  great  square.  Here  very  many 
gondolas  were  drawn  up,  and  just  beyond,  two 
lofty  pillars  arose ;  one  of  which  was  surmounted 
by  a  statue  of  a  man,  and  the  other  by  a  statue 
representing  a  Winged  Lion.  Beyond  this  they 
saw  that  same  lofty  tower  which  had  met  their 
gaze  far  up  the  Grand  Canal,  and  in  the  distance 
a  row  of  magnificent  edifices.  Bordering  on  the 
canal,  a  little  farther  on,  there  was  a  stately  palace, 
and  behind  this,  fronting  on  th*^  inner  square,  was 
a  cathedral  with  many  domes. 

"  This,"  said  Vernon,  "  is  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark; 
and  just  here,  near  the  pillars,  is  the  Piazzetta,  or 
little  square.  That  is  the  Ducal  Palace  ;  that  church 
with  the  domes  is  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Mark,  and 
the  tower  belongs  to  it,  although  it  stands  apart 
from  it,  as  is  often  the  case  in  Italy." 

"  What  is  that  Winged  Lion  ?  "  asked  Clive. 

"  That,"  said  Vernon,  "  is  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark. 
It  is  the  symbol  of  Venice  —  like  the  British  Lion, 
the  symbol  of  British  power  —  or  like  the  Ameri- 
can Eagle,  our  own  majestic  fowl.  The  Winged 
Lion  was  once  a  powerful  beast,  and  was  respected 
all  over  the  Mediterranean,  when  the  British  Lion 
was  but  a  small  animal,  and  long  before  the  Ameri- 
can Eagle  was  hatched." 

'*  I'm  afraid,"  said  Gracie,  shyly,  "  that  you  are 
just  a  little  bit  flippant.  It  seems  like  irreverence 
to  call  these  glorious  symbols  fowls  and  beasts." 

"  Then  I'll  never  call  them  so  again  as  long  as  I 


82  THE  WINOEI>  LION. 

live,"  said  Vernon,  with  an  absurd  air  of  contrition, 
which  made  them  all  laugh ;  '*  and  I'm  sure  I  didn't 
mean  any  harm." 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  a  Winged  Lion  ?  " 
asked  Gracie.     "  No  lion  has  wings." 

**  That's  the  very  question,"  said  Vernon,  "  that 
an  Austrian  ambassador  once  asked  of  a  Venetian. 
Now,  you  know  the  Austrian  symbol  is  a  double- 
headed  eagle ;  and  do  you  know  what  the  Venetian 
replied  ?  '^ 

"  No,"  said  Gracie ;  ^'  I'm  sorry  to  say  I'm  awfully 
ignorant.  My  education  has  been  frightfully  neg- 
lected." 

"  Well,"  said  Vernon,  "  the  Austrian  asked  the 
Venetian  in  what  part  of  the  world  winged  lions 
are  found  ;  and  the  Venetian  replied,  in  the  same 
country  where  they  have  double-headed  eagles." 

*'  Well  done  for  the  Venetian,"  said  Clive. 

"  0,  it  wasn't  a  very  clever  thing  to  say,"  said 
Vernon.  "  I  only  tell  the  story  because  it's  one  of 
the  regular  things  that  one  has  to  say  to  every  new 
visitor." 

**  But  why  did  they  take  a  Winged  Lion  for  their 
symbol  in  the  first  place  ?  "  asked  Gracie. 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Vernon.  "  *  Thereby  hangs  a 
tale.' " 

"  0,  tell  it,  tell  it  by  all  means,"  said  Gracie. 
"  I'm  awfully  fond  of  stories." 

Vernon  laughed  in  his  usual  pleasant  fashion, 
and  began :  — 


VERNON'S  EXPLANATION.  33 

"  Well,  yon  know,  in  the  first  place,  the  lion  be- 
longs to  St.  Mark.  It  has  been  taken  for  his  sym- 
bol ever  since  the  time  of  the  apostles.  The  reason 
of  this  is,  that  the  vision  of  Ezekiel,  where  he  sees 
the  cherubim,  you  know,  describes  them  as  having 
four  faces,  or,  as  some  say,  four  distinct  forms ; 
that  is,  a  man,  a  lion,  an  ox,  and  an  eagle.  Now, 
these  have  always  been  taken  by  the  church  to 
represent  the  four  evangelists  —  the  man  repre- 
senting St.  Matthew ;  the  lion,  St.  Mark ;  the  ox, 
St.  Luke ;  and  the  eagle,  St.  John." 

"  0,  I'm  very  glad  to  know  all  that,'^  said  Gracie. 
"  I'm  sure  I  never  heard  it  before.  And  that  is 
why  St.  Mark  has  the  lion.  Well,  as  an  American, 
I  feel  inclined  to  take  St.  John  as  the  patron  saint 
of  our  country,  for  his  emblem  is  the  eagle.  But 
how  did  St.  Mark's  lion  happen  to  have  wings  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  arose,"  said  Vernon,  ^'  from"  the  vis- 
ion of  the  prophet  Daniel.  In  his  vision  he  sees 
four  living  things  — •'  the  same  as  Ezekiel —  a  man, 
a  lion  with  eagle's  wings,  an  ox,  and  an  eagle. 
These  also  were  taken  to  represent  the  evangel- 
ists ;  and  so,  you  see,  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark  gained  a 
pair  of  wings,  which  wings  you  may  see  on  that 
statue." 

"  How  did  Venice  happen  to  choose  St.  Mark  for 
its  patron  saint?"  asked  Gracie.  "Why  not  St. 
Peter  ?  or  St.  Paul  ?  or  St.  Bartholomew  ?  For  my 
part,  I've  always  had  a  weakness  for  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. It's  such  a  nice  name,  you  know.'' 
8 


34  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Vernon  laughed  again.  "  Bartholomew  I "  said  he. 
"  Why  Bartholomew  more  than  Nathaniel  ?  The 
names  belonged  to  the  same  man.  Bartholomew 
means  the  son  of  Tolmaeus,  or  Tholemew,  and  that 
party  was  Nathaniel's  father." 

"  Well,"  said  Gracie,  *'  I  think  it's  a  shame.  I've 
been  going  to  Sunday  school  all  my  life,  and  no- 
body ever  told  me  all  that.  But  how  do  you  hap- 
pen to  know  so  much  about  church  history  ?  Why, 
you  ought  to  write  one  for  the  use  of  Sunday 
schools.  But  never  mind.  Go  on  and  tell  how  the 
Venetians  happened  to  choose  St.  Mark." 

"  St.  Mark,  you  know,"  began  Vernon,  '^  accord- 
ing to  legend,  which  is  very  likely  to  l?e  true,  died 
at  Alexandria,  and  was  buried  there.  His  tomb 
was  much  revered  by  the  Christians,  who  believed 
that  miracles  were  wrought  there.  After  the  Mo- 
hammedans captured  the  place,  the  Christians  still 
kept  up  their  reverence,  and  at  length  the  Moham- 
medans also  caught  the  supferstition,  and  used  to 
bring  their  sick  friends  there  to  be  healed.  At 
last,  one  of  the  Mohammedan  rulers,  who  did  not 
believe  in  St.  Mark,  being  in  want  of  marble  for  a 
new  palace,  determined  to  destroy  his  church,  and 
appropriate  the  stones  for  his  own  purposes.  The 
priests  were  in  a  great  way.  They  were  afraid 
that  the  remains  of  the  apostle  would  be  dese- 
crated, and  the-lower  orders  generally  were  equal- 
ly afraid  of  losing  the  relics  which  wrought  such 
miracles.  So  the  governor  promised  to  transfer 
the  remains  to  some  other  place. 


*ST.   MARK.  35 

"  At  that  very  time  there  happened  to  be  a  num- 
ber of  Venetian  ships  in  port,  and  the  captain  of 
one  of  them,  hearing  of  what  was  going  on,  deter- 
mined to  try  to  secure  the  sacred  relics  of  the  apos- 
tle for  his  own  city.  So  he  had  an  interview  with 
the  priests  who  had  charge  of  the  tomb ;  pointed 
out  the  dangers  that  would  always  threaten  the 
grave  of  a  Christian  saint  among  a  Mohammedan 
population ;  and  how  desirable  it  would  be  to  have 
the  body  transferred  to  a  safer  place :  a  large  bribe 
was  added  to  the  arguments,  and  all  together  were 
so  persuasive  that  the  priests  consented. 

"  The  work,  however,  was  not  easy.  The  wor- 
shippers were  numerous,  and  might  detect  the  act. 
At  length  they  made  an  opening  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  coffin,  through  which  they  removed  the  body 
of  St.  Mark,  and  immediately  afterwards  put  in  its 
place  the  body  of  another  saint,  who,  however,  was 
of  inferior  grade.  This  removal  was  attended  by 
a  very  wonderful  circumstance.  For  no  sooner 
had  the  body  of  St.  Mark  been  brought  forth  into 
the  open  air  than  an  odor  was  wafted  forth  from  it, 
through  all  the  surrounding  space,  of  such  exqui- 
site sweetness  that  all  who  came  near  the  church 
were  amazed  and  delighted  at  the  heavenly  fra- 
grance. Inquiries  were  made,  and  the  tomb  was 
narrowly  inspected ;  but  none  of  the  examiners 
were  able  to  detect  any  difference.  Thus  they 
succeeded  in  removing  the  body  from  the  tomb. 

"  The  next  trouble  was  about  getting  it  on  ship- 


86  THE  WINGED    iSoN. 

board.  This  was  effected  by  an  ingenious  device. 
The  body  was  wrapped  up  so  as  to  look  as  little 
like  a  human  form  as  possible,  and  then,  as  it  was 
carried  through  the  streets,  men  went  before*  it 
crying  out,  '  Pork  !  Pork  1 '  Now,  as  pork  is  an 
unclean  thing  among  Mohammedans,  and  an  object 
of  horror,  those  whom  they  encountered  were  far 
more  eager  to  get  out  of  the  way  than  to  examine 
the  precious  bundle. 

"  A  further  trial  yet  remained.  A  search  was 
always  made  by  the  city  police  before  any  ship  was 
allowed  to  leave  port,  so  as  to  see  that  no  runaway 
slaves  should  escape,  and  no  prohibited  articles  of 
commerce  be  taken  away.  There  was  great  dan- 
ger that  all  their  troubles  might  prove  fruitless, 
since  such  a  thing  as  the  body  of  an  evangelist 
would  be  discovered  only  too  easily.  But  the  wits 
of  the  Venetian  captain  were  again  able  to  d«vise 
a  means  of  escape.  He  caused  the  body  to  be 
rolled  up  inside  the  sail,  which  was  then  furled 
close  to  the  yard-arm.  In  this  way  it  eluded  all 
examination,  and  even  suspicion.  This  was  the 
last  of  the  great  trials,  and  nothing  further  hap- 
pened until  St.  Mark  arrived  in  safety  at  that  city 
which  was  thenceforth  to  be  forever  associated 
with  his  name. 

"  The  joy  of  the  Venetians  at  this  great  acquisi- 
tion was  unbounded.  All  the  city  turned  out  to 
receive  the  precious  remains.     The  doge,  and  all 


8T.    MA  UK.  87 

the  chief  nobloa,  the  clergy,  the  entire  population, 
came. to  do  liiin  honor.  Solemn  services  were  held, 
accompanied  with  the  pomp  of  magnificent  cere- 
monies, and  splendid  processions,  and  feasting,  and 
music,  and  universal  joy.  St.  Mark  was  taken  as 
the  patron  saint  of  Venice.  His  lion — with  eagle's 
wings  —  became  her  symbol,  and  the  battle-cry  of 
her  warriors  was  to  be  the  name  of  the  saint. 

"  So  there  is  Llie  lion ;  and  they  used  to  have  a 
very  interesting  fashion  :  in  peace  an  open  book 
was  placed  under  his  paws  ;  but  in  time  of  war  the 
book  was  removjd,  and  a  drawn  sword  placed  there 
in  its  stead." 

While  they  Lad  been  looking  at  the  Piazza,  with 
its  edifices  and  towers,  and  Vernon  had  been  talk- 
ing, the  boat  had  stopped;  but  no>  *t  resumed  its 
progress,  and  before  long  they  came  to  their  desti- 
nation. It  was  a  lofty  house,  at  a  corner  where 
one  of  the  canal  streets  ran  up  from  the  Grand 
Canal.  Here  they  landed,  and  went  up  to  a 
handsome  suite  of  apartments  in  the  second  story, 
from  the  windows  of  which  there  was  a  magnifi- 
cent view  of  the  harbor  and  the  suburbs  of  the 
city. 

"  If  you  will  give  me  your  aunt's  address,"  said 
Vernon  to  Gracie,  "  I  will  go  off  at  once  and  get 
the  police  to  see  about  her." 

" 0,  thank  you,"  said  Gracie, earnestly.  "I  shall 
feel  so  much  relieved  1 " 


38  THE   WINGED   LION. 

She  then  wrote  down  in  Vernon's  pocket-book 
the  name  of  her  aunt :  —  ^ 

Vernon  now  hurried  off,  and  was  gone  about  an 
hour. 

**  You  need  givo  yourself  no  further  anxiety," 
said  he  on  his  return.  "  The  police  will  send  a  mes- 
senger by  the  first  train  to-morrow,  and  at  the  same 
time  they  will  keep  a  record  of  all  who  arrive  in 
the  city,  and  let  m«  know." 

This  information  filled  Gracie  with  delight.  She 
felt  confident  now  that  she  would  soon  see  her 
aunt. 


WONDERS   OF  ST.    MARK.  89 


CHAPTER  III. 

Si.  Mark's  and  its  Wonders.  —  The  Story  of  the  Demon 
Ship.  —  The  Great  Barbarossa.  —  The  Artist's  Home,  — 
The  two  mysterious  Pictures,  «• 

FTER  taking  lunch  they  all  set  forth  to  see 
the  city,  and  first  of  all  they  went  to  the 
Piazza  of  St.  Mark. 

Here  they  saw  a  spacious  square  surrounded  by 
magnificent  edifices.  The  lofty  tower  of  St.  Mark 
arose  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  the  air.  The 
Ducal  Palace,  with  its  long  front  adorned  with  pil- 
lars and  arches,  displayed  its  noble  dimensions, 
and  opened  before  them  those  dread  portals  which 
in  former  ages  were  the  avenue  to  so  much  mys- 
tery and  iniquity.  The  three  tall  flag- staffs  lifted 
to  heaven,  not  the  Lion  of  Venice,  nor  the  Double 
Eagle  of  Austria,  but  the  banner  of  regenerated 
Italy.  But  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  Piazza,  and  of 
all  Venice,  was  the  magnificent  Cathedral  of  St. 
Mark,  and  it  was  to  this  that  Vernon  first  conducted 
them. 

They  saw  a  splendid  edifice  built  of  white  mar- 
ble, and  crowned  with  a  cluster  of  swelling  domes, 
which  gave  it  an  appearance  rather  of  Aladdin's 


40  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Palace  than  of  a  Christian  church.  The  whole  front 
was  ornamented  witli  an  immense  number  of  col- 
umns, formed  of  every  kind  of  precious  marble, 
polished  so  as  to  show  the  richest  and  most  gor- 
geous colors.  They  saw  five  noble  portals  opening 
into  the  Cathedral,  and  over  each  a  vaulted  recess 
that  blazed  with  gold,  whereon  were  mosaic  pic- 
tures wrought  in  the  most  brilliant  tints.  Imme- 
diately over  the  cliief  portal  they  saw  r,  deep  re- 
cess, in  which  stood  four  bronze  horses,  —  emblems 
not  of  the  peaceful  services  of  religion,  but  rather 
of  the  proud  achievements  of  war,  and  carrying  the 
mind  back  from  the  modern  republic  of  Venice  to 
the  ancient  republic  of  Rome. 

Entering,  they  found  the  interior  fully  corre- 
sponding with  the  promise  of  the  exterior.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  blaze  with  gold  and  brilliant  col- 
oring. The  floor,  the  walls,  the  vaulted  roof,  the 
lofty  domes,  were  all  covered  with  mosaic  pictures 
wrought  on  gilded  background.  David  and  Clive 
had  seen  St.  Peter's,  and  therefore  were  not  so 
deeply  impressed  by  all  this  splendor  as  Gracie. 
She  had  never  yet  seen  anything  half  so  gorgeous, 
and  was  loud  in  her  expressions  of  admiration. 

"  How  did  the  Venetians  happen,"  she  asked,  at 
length,  "  to  lavish  such  an  enormous  amount  of 
treasure  on  St.  Mark  ?  " 

"  0,  why,  I'm  sure  they  had  every  reason  to 
do  so/^  said  Vernon.  "  He  was  their  patron  saint. 
He   gave   them  victory  by  land  and  sea.     They 


A  LEGEND.  41 

gained  all  this  by  these  victories,  and  the  least  they 
could  do  was  to  give  some  of  it  to  him." 

"  It  seems  to  me  rather  a  i'unny  thing  for  a  saint 
and  an  evangelist  to  do,"  said  Gracie,  "  to  become 
a  sort  of  Christian  Mars." 

"  0,  but  St.  Mark  was  just  as  useful  in  peace," 
said  Yernon.  "  I'll  tell  you  a  story  if  you  like.  It's 
a  well-known  legend  of  Venice,  and  is  called 

The  Demon  Ship. 

"  In  the  year  1341  there  was  a  great  inundation. 
The  waters  of  the  Adriatic,  rising  at  the  furious 
impulse  of  a  prolonged  arid  terrible  storm,  raged 
about  the  city,  overflowing  the  basements  of  the 
houses,  and  sweeping  over  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark's 
till  the  billows  of  the  sea  broke  against  the  Ducal 
Palace,  and  the  Tower  of  St.  Mark's,  and  the  Cathe- 
dral. Panic  seized  upon  the  city.  The  terror  was 
universal.  The  horrified  people  thronged  to  im- 
plore the  aid  of  their  patron  saint,  and  the  clergy 
with  the  people  standing  deep  in  the  water,  which 
was  now  all  over  the  Cathedral  floor,  sent  up  peti- 
tions to  invoke  the  interposition  of  Heaven. 

"  It  was  on  a  night  when  the  storm  and  the 
greatest  terror  were  at  their  height,  that  a  poor 
fisherman,  who  was  in  his  boat,  at  the  bank  of  the 
Piazza,  was  accosted  by  a  stranger,  who  had  waded 
through  the  darkness  towards  him.  This  stranger 
wished  to  be  taken  to  San  Giorgio  Maggiore.  On 
the  refusal  of  the  fisherman,  the  other  persisted, 


42  THE  WINGED   LION. 

and  offered  to  give  him  a  large  sum  for  his  services. 
The  fisherman  was  poor,  and  had  never  in  all  his 
life  had  such  a  chance  of  gaining  so  large  a  sum ; 
yet  the  offer  would  not  have  tempted  him  to  go. 
But  there  was  something  about  the  stranger  which 
filled  the  fisherman  with  awe,  and  seemed  to  take 
away  from  him  the  power  of  refusal.  Under  this 
influence  he  prepared  to  obey,  and  taking  his 
oars  in  silence,  he  put  forth  with  the  feeling  of 
one  who  is  going  to  certain  death,  and  who  has  no 
power  to  fly. 

"  The  storm  was  fierce,  and  even  in  the  shelter 
of  the  city  the  sea  ran  high;  and  the  fisherman, 
after  rowing  some  distance,  began  to  think  that 
his  awful  companion  had  sorae  protective  power. 
At  length  the  boat  reached  its  destination,  and 
there  stood  a  figure  as  if  waiting  for  them.  This 
one  got  on  board,  and  the  fisherman  felt  for  him 
something  of  the  same  awe  which  the  first  passen- 
ger had  inspired. 

"  He  was  now  ordered  to  row  out  to  the  mouth 
of  the  harbor.  This  time  he  did  not  dare  to  refuse  ; 
and  besides,  the  very  awe  which  kept  him  silent 
was  associated  with  a  conviction  that  his  myste- 
rious companions  had  power  to  save  liim  from  dan- 
ger. And  so,  witli  this  mixture  of  awe  and  confi- 
dence, ho  put  forth  all  his  efforts.  At  every  mo- 
ment the  waves  grew  higher  and  more  threatening. 
Never  before  had  the  fisherman  known  such  a 
storm,  and  under  ordinary  circumstances  it  could 


A  LEGEND.  43 

not  have  lived  in  such  a  sea ;  but  now  the  boat 
breasted  the  stormy  waves  right  gallantly,  and  at 
length  reached  the  mouth  of  the  harbor  without 
having  shipped  a  drop  of  water  from  all  those  angry 
waves. 

"  Here  the  sea  was  terrific,  and  the  storm  raged 
worse  than  ever, 'at  every  moment  rising  to  fresh 
fury  and  growing  to  a  hurricane.  But  all  the  rage 
of  the  waves  and  the  wrath  of  the  storm  was  un- 
noticed by  the  fisherman  in  the  presence  of  another 
spectacle  which  appeared  before  his  eyes. 

"  For  here,  as  he  looked  forth,  he  saw  a  huge 
galley  driving  down  straight  towards  him,  as  though 
seeking  to  enter  the  city.  But  it  was  no  ship 
in  distress  seeking  a  port,  no  ship  of  mortal  man, 
that  thus  drove  down  before  the  gale.  The  strange 
ship  was  as  black  as  midnight,  with  blue  sulphur- 
ous flames  disclosing  her  outlines  and  also  her 
terrific  crew.  For  the  crew  were  all  demons,  who 
swarmed  all  over  her  masts  and  rigging,  looking 
forth  with  furious  eyes,  gesticulating  like  maniacs, 
and  howling  and  shrieking  out  words  and  impreca- 
tions that  made  his  blood  curdle  within  his  veins, 
and  his  hair  bristle  with  horror.  Amid  the  din  and 
uproar  he  could  distinguish  the  words,  over  and 
over  repeated  with  hideous  curses  —  *  Up  with  the 
storm  and  sea  I  Down  with  Venice  I  Sink  her  in 
the  waters  I ' 

"  At  this  moment  his  companions  rose,  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  the  first  passenger,  in  a 
stern  voice  of  command,  bade  the  demons  to  vanish. 


44  THE  WINGED   LION. 

*^  Scarce  had  the  words  been  uttered  than  there 
was  an  instantaneous  change.  A  wild  and  dreadful 
shriek  rang  out  through  the  sky,  the  demon  ship 
all  seemed  to  collapse  and  tumble  in  upon  itself, 
and  vanished  away  utterly.  The  sea  grew  calm, 
the  wind  ceased,  and  deep  silence  reigned  all 
around,  while  from  afar  there  came  to  the  ears  of 
the  astonished  fisherman  the  sweet  sounds  of  the 
bells  of  St.  Mark's. 

"  At  a  sign  from  the  elder  of  the  passengers  the 
fisherman  now  rowed  back  to  San  Giorgio,  where 
the  two  got  out.  > 

"  *  Go  to  the  governor,'  said  the  first  passen- 
ger, *  and  tell  him  that  but  for  us  Venice  would 
have  been  destroyed.  I  am  St.  Mark.  My  com- 
panion is  St.  George.'  Then,  taking  a  ring  from 
his  finger,  he  added,  *  Show  them  this,  and  tell 
them  to  look  for  it  in  my  treasury,  whence  it  will 
be  found  missing.' 

'*  The  fisherman  did  as  he  was  told.  On  exami- 
nation the  ring  was  found  missing,  and  the  fisher- 
man's story  w^as  believed.  They  gave  him  a  hand- 
some reward  and  an  annual  pension.  In  addition 
to  this,  solemn  services  were  instituted  in  honor  of 
the  saints  who  had  interposed  to  save  Venice  from 
so  direful  a  calamity." 

"  Well,"  said  Gracie, "  if  a  city  does  have  -c.  patron 
saint,  it  seems  to  me  that  fighting  off  demon  ships 
is  more  in  accordance  with  his  Christian  character 


THE  GREAT  BARBAR0S8A.  46 

than  subduing  foreign  countries  ;  and  so  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  story." 

Vernon  now  took  them  to  a  place  where  there 
was  a  diamond- shaped  slab  of  polished  porphyry  set 
in  the  pavement. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  is  the  place  where  the  Emperor 
Frederic  Barbarossa  knelt  when  he  made  his  sub- 
mission to  the  pope." 

"  You  will  have  to  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said 
Gracie,"  for  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  I  know  abso- 
lutely nothing  about  the  Emperor  Frederic  Bar- 
barossa." 

"  I'll  try  and  make  the  story  as  short  as  possible," 
said  Vernon,  "  so  as  not  to  be  tiresome." 

And  with  this  he  proceeded  to  tell  the  story  of 

The  Great  Barbarossa. 

*'  The  war  between  Pope  Alexander  and  the  Em- 
peror Frederic  Barbarossa  had  been  raging  for 
seventeen  years.  At  length  the  emperor  had  lost 
his  power  on  the  sea,  and  the  time  soon  came 
when  he  was  to  lose  it  on  the  land.  The  league 
of  the  Lombard  cities  had  proved  thus  far  invinci- 
ble, and  now  stood  before  him  with  a  great  army 
to  fight  the  last  battle  for  their  liberties.  Frederic 
hastened  against  them  with  a  greater  army,  and 
the  two  opposing  forces  met  at  Legnano,  where 
they  fought  one  of  the  greatest  battles  of  modern 
times.  But  Frederic  had  traitors  in  his  camp,  and 
Guelph,  who  led  one  quarter  of  his  forces,  held  back 


46  THE  WINGED   LION. 

from  the  contest.  Frederic  was  defeated.  His 
army  was  ruined,  and  he  who  had  in  the  morning 
been  the  mightest  ruler  in  Europe,  in  the  evening 
fled  from  the  field,  with  the  prospect  of  irremedia- 
ble ruin  lowering  all  around  him. 

"  His  grand  army  was  lost.  Guelph  was  false. 
The  followers  of  Guelph  were  preparing  to  stir  up 
all  Germany  against  him.  In  the  days  of  his  power 
he  had  scoffed  at  the  curse  of  the  pope ;  but  now 
that  he  was  a  fallen  man,  the  anathema  crushed 
him  into  tlie  dust.  Never  again  could  he  hope  to 
rise  until  that  was  taken  away. 

"  Besides  this,  he  thirsted  for  vengeance  on  the 
traitor  to  whom  he  attributed  his  ruin.  For  the 
sake  of  this  he  determined  to  sacrifice  his  pride. 
To  get  rid  of  the  ban  of  the  church  —  the  terrible 
curse  —  was  his  first  and  most  pressing  necessity. 
Upon  this  he  resolved,  and  he  resolved  also  to  sub- 
mit even  to  the  lowest  humiliation  if  he  might  but 
accomplish  this. 

"  Once  before  a  Roman  emperor  had  humbled 
himself  before  a  pope,  and  had  shown  to  the 
world  that  the  invisible  weapons  of  the  church 
were  far  stronger  than  arms  of  steel  or  disciplined 
legions  of  valiant  warriors.  The  world  was  now 
to  learn  this  lesson  a  second  time.  The  Emperor 
Henry  IV.  had  humbled  himself  before  Gregory 
VII.  at  Canossa  ;  and  now  Frederic  Barbarossa  went 
to  repeat  this  act  of  self-abasement  before  Alex- 
ander at  Venice. 


THE  GREAT  BARBAROSSA.  47 

"  Venice  heard  and  was  glad.  It  was  considered 
a  triumph  for  the  proud  and  valiant  republic.  The 
glory  was  Alexander's,  but  Venice  would  share 
that  glo^'\  She  had  already  humbled  the  emperor 
at  sea.  She  could  share  in  the  triumph  of  those 
who  had  humbled  him  at  Lv  gnano.  She  had  helped 
the  pope  with  her  powerful  arm  in  the  days  of  his 
exile  ;  she  would  now  take  a  part  in  his  triumph. 
The  emperor  was  to  bow  down  before  the  pope, 
but  he  was  to  do  this  act  in  Venice,  and  Venice 
should  look  on,  and  see  it,  and  be  glad. 

"  The  emperor  landed  at  the  Piazzetta.  The 
doge  and  all  the  nobility  were  there  to  receive  him 
—  an  imposing  cort6ge,  representing  all  that  was 
great  or  illustrious  in  Venice.  In  this  way  he  was 
received,  and  then  was  conducted  to  the  Piazza. 

"  Theref,  on  a  chair  in  front  of  St.  Mark's,  sat  the 
pope,  his  mighty  antagonist,  —  mighty,  yet  poor  — 
the  man  who  had  fought  with  him  so  long,  and  who 
had  won  at  last.  He  was  clad  in  his  pontifical 
vestments,  with  the  triple  crown  upon  his  head, 
while  around  him  stood  a  brilliant  assemblage  of 
cardinals,  archbishops,  bishops,  and  other  high  ec- 
clesiastics. All  stood  except  the  pope.  He  alone 
was  seated,  and  he  waited  with  a  calm  and  tranquil 
face  for  the  emperor. 

"  The  emperor  came  forward.  Then  he  uncov- 
ered and  prostrated  himself,  casting  aside  at  the 
same  time  his  purple  mantle.  Then  he  kissed  the 
foot  of  the  pope. 


48  THE  WINGED  LION. 

"  And  BO  there  lay  prostrate  the  mighty  Fred- 
eric Barbarossa,  Holy  Roman  Emperor,  Lord  of 
Germany  and  Italy,  who  claimed  to  be  first  mon- 
arch on  earth.  As  he  lay  there  thus  prostrate,  all 
the  past  came  before  the  mind  of  Alexander.  He 
had  fought  long  and  bravely.  He  had  known  the 
lowest  depths  of  misfortune.  He  had  known  want 
and  exile.  He  had  been  insulted,  and  persecuted, 
and  hunted  down  over  all  Italy,  by  land  and  sea. 
He  had  known  what  it  was  to  bo  alone,  with  noth- 
ing to  rely  on  but  his  own  inflexible  soul.  Now,  at 
last,  he  had  reached  the  hour  of  his  triumph,  and  of 
that  triumph  he  was  not  willing  to  lose  one  jot  or 
tittle.  He  would  enjoy  it  to  the  uttermost  by 
abasing  Federic  to  the  uttermost. 

"  He  placed  his  foot  upon  the  head  of  the  pros- 
trate emperor,  and  said  these  words  of  Scripture : — - 

"  '  Thou  shalt  tread  upon  the  lion  and  the  adder  j 
the  young  lion  and  the  dragon  shalt  thou  trample 
under  foot.' 

"  From  this  bitter  insult  Frederic's  soul  revolted. 

"  '  It  is  not  to  yoUy  said  he,  in  an  indignant  voice 
—  Mt  is  not  to  you,  that  I  bow ;  it  is  to  St  Peter.^ 

"  Upon  this  the  pope  placed  his  foot  a  second 
time,  and  more  firmly,  upon  the  emperor's  head. 

" '  It  is  both  to  me  and  St.  Peter,'  he  said. 

"  With  this  he  was  satisfied,  and  after  this  the 
reconciliation  was  effected,  and  the  anathema  was 
taken  off,  and  the  emperor  restored  to  communion 
with  the  church  amid  the  most  magnificent  cere- 
monies." 


ENCOMIUMS   ON   VENICE.  49 

It  was  now  too  lato  in  the  day  to  visit  tlio  Dnoal 
Palace  ;  bo,  after  wjilkinj?  about  tho  Piazza  for  a 
wliilo,  they  returned  to  the  gondola,  and  went  up 
and  down  the  Grand  Canal.  Venice  appeared  more 
beautiful  and  more  picturesque  than  ever.  Crowds 
of  boats  were  out,  and  murmurs  of  conversation 
came  over  the  water,  mingled  with  the  voice  of 
song  and  the  sharp  cry  of  tho  gondoliers.  Then 
came  sunset,  and  our  party  returned  to  Vernon's 
house. 

After  dinner,  Vernon  set  himself  to  the  pleasing 
task  of  amusing  his  guests,  in  which  there  was  not 
the  slightest  difficulty,  for  they  all  were  in  the  high- 
est possible  spirits. 

Clive  and  David  were  loud  in  their  expressions 
of  delight.  Never  had  they  seen  any  place  which 
was  equal  to  Venice.  Naples,  and  Florence,  and 
even  Rome,  were  inferior. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Gracie.  "  I've 
been  half  afraid,  while  I  was  enthusiastic  about 
Venice,  that  you  would  crush  me  with  your  supe- 
rior knowledge,  and  fling  at  my  devoted  head  those 
very  cities  —  Naples,  and  Florence,  and  Rome. 
And  what  makes  it  ever  so  much  nicer  is,  that  I 
feel  so  much  at  ease  about  poor  dear  auntie.  I 
suppose  I  shall  hear  about  her  to-morrow — shan't 
I,  Mr.  Vernon  ?  " 

"  Well,  hardly  to-morrow,"  said  Vernon.     "  You 
see  they  will  send  their  messenger  to-morrow,  and 
4 


50  THE  WINGKD   LION. 

it  is  not  likely  that  ymi  will  hear  anything  of  her 
until  tho  diiy  after,  inile88  who  comes  hero." 

"  (),  well,"  said  Oracio,  with  a  little  sigh,  "  I 
shall  leave  it  all  to  you  and  the  police." 

'*  The  day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Clive.  "  I  sup- 
pose Uncle  Moses  v/ill  bo  hero  by  thiit  time.'* 

"  They'll  be  sorry  enough,"  said  David,  '•  that 
they  didn't  come  with  us — won't  they?" 

"  Won't  they,  though  1 "  said  Clive.  ''  I  bet  they 
will." 

Vernon  was  attentive  to  all  his  guests,  but  to 
Gracie  he  was  most  devoted.  In  fact,  Gracio  was 
one  to  whom  every  one  felt  inclined  to  devote  him- 
self, and  David  and  Clive  looked  at  her  with  that 
chivalrous  homage  which  is  felt  by  every  high- 
minded  boy  for  youth,  and  loveliness,  and  elegant 
refinement.  All  these  were  present  in  Gracie.  She 
was  like  a  sunbeam  in  the  artist's  home ;  her  name 
was  appropriate  indeed,  for  there  was  an  ineffable 
grace  in  her  Ijok,  her  attitude,  her  gestures,  while 
in  her  voice  there  was  a  certain  indefinable  charm 
which  was  irresistible. 

"  He's  awfully  fond  of  Gracie,"  whispered  Clive 
to  David,  as  Vernon  sat  and  talked  with  her. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  David,  with  a  low  groan. 

"  You're  not  half  bo  fond  of  her  as  I  am,"  said 
Clive. 

"  Pooh  ! "  said  David ;  "  you  don't  begin  even  to 
understand  what  it  is  to  feel  as  I  feel." 

"  1,"  said  Clive,  "  I  not  understand !  Let  me 
tell  you,  mister  —  " 


VERNON^S   PICTURES.  61 

But  hero  they  wore  interrupted  by  Vernon. 

"  Come,  boya,"  said  ho  ;  "  I'm  goin|^  to  show  some 
of  my  pictures :  would  you  like  to  sec  them  ?  " 

Wouldn't  they,  though  ' 

The  invitation  was  received  witli  enthusiasm, 
and  Vernon  led  tho  way  to  an  adjoining  apartment, 
which  was  fitted  up  as  a  studio.  Hero  there  was 
an  easel  with  an  unfinished  picture.  At  one  side 
of  tlio  room  was  another  picture,  and  to  this  Ver- 
non led  them. 

It  represented  a  scene  in  a  Venetian  palace. 
There  was  a  young  man,  thin  and  haggard,  to  whom 
an  elderly  lady  was  clinging.  Opposite  these  sat 
an  old  man,  richly  dressed  as  a  Venetian  noble. 
He  held  a  letter  in  his  hands,  which  he  appeared  to 
be  reading.  The  chiei  point  in  this  picture  w^.s  the 
old  man's  face.  There  was  horror  in  it,  anc.  amaze- 
ment, together  with  remorse  ;  and  it  seemed  as  if 
all  these,  struggling  together,  had  quite  over- 
whelmed him. 

They  all  looked  in  profound  silence,  and  Gracie 
at  length  asked  what  it   v^as  about. 

"  I  will  tell  you  afterwards,"  said  Vernon ;  "  but 
before  I  tell  you  I  should  like  to  show  you  this 
picture.  It  is  not  quite  finished,  but  you  can  see 
what  the  idea  is.'' 

This  was  the  picture  on  the  easel.  It  was  a 
scene  in  a  masquerade.  They  recognized  the 
place,  for  it  was  the  Grand  Piazza.  Amid  the  crowd 
there  were  three  in  masks.    Two  of  these  appeared 


52  THE  WINGED    LTON. 

to  be  lovers,  who  were  shrinking  back  as  if  in  fear ; 
the  third  was  a  large,  stern  man,  somewhat  elderly, 
who  was  tlie  chief  figure.  From  behind  his  mask 
the  artist  had  succeeded  in  suggesting  an  expres- 
sion of  intense  rage  and  fur}'',  which  was  stamped 
upon  his  cruel  mouth,  and  gleamed  from  his  fiery 
eyes. 

"  1  wish  we  couid  know  what  these  pictures  are 
about,"  said  Gracie. 

"  I  have  the  stories  written  out,"  said  Yernon, 
"  and  I'll  read  tliem  to  you,  if  you  care  to  hear 
them.  After  that  you  can  look  at  the  pictures 
again,  and  let  me  know  what  you  think  of  them." 

They  all  returned  to  the  room  now,  and  Vernon, 
producing  some  manuscripts,  began  to  read. 


AIJTENORE   AND   GALBAJO.  53 


CHAPTEK  lY. 

Vernon  reads  to  his  Guests  the  Story  of  Am',  nore  and 

Galbajo, 

NTENORE  was  one  of  the  haughtiest  nobles 
of  Venice.  No  one  was  so  jealous  as  he 
about  the  rights  and  privileges  of  the  pa- 
trician class,  so  obstinate  in  his  refusal  to  grant 
any  concessions  to  the  lower  orders,  or  so  indig- 
nant at  what  he  called  their  presumption,  when 
any  of  them  ventured  by  a  fortunate  speculation 
to  increase  his  means,  and  rise  a  little  in  the  scale 
of  being.  For  there  were  many  of  these  far  be- 
neath Antenore  in  rank,  who  had  dared  to  make 
money,  and  to  exhibit  the  signs  of  wealth  in  their 
persons  and  surroundings.  With  these  he  was 
compelled  to  have  business  connection,  to  traffic 
with  them,  to  talk  with  them  on  the  Piazza :  but 
such  intercourse  was  always  revolting  to  his  pride. 
Among  those  who  most  particularly  excited  his 
dislike  was  the  merchant  Galbajo.  His  wealth 
was  great ;  he  had  made  it  all  himself ;  and  yet 
he  showed  none  of  that  vanity  and  self-assertion 
which  often  mark  ^.he  self-made  man.  He  vv^as 
popular  among  the  men  of  his  own  order,  and  his 


54  THE  WINGED   LION. 

simple  and  unaffected  manners  might  have  dis- 
armed resentment  everywhere.  But  Galbajo  was 
too  prosperous ;  he  had  a  genius  for  money-mak- 
ing, and  he  could  not  remain  free  from  the  assaults 
of  envy  and  detraction.  For  this  man  of  the  peo- 
ple presumed  to  be  fortunate  when  others  were 
unfortunate  ;  in  boldness  of  speculation,  and  in  ex- 
tent of  enterprise,  he  began  to  rival  the  great 
merchant  prin?es  themselves ;  and  his  uniform 
success  was  such  that  Antenore  darkly  hinted  at 
mysterious  violations  of  the  law.  The  truth  was, 
that  Galbajo  had  an  unusual  talent  for  commercial 
enterprises ;  he  was  daring,  yet  prudent ;  watch- 
ful, yet  bold  :  moreover  his  household  was  simple, 
and  his  personal  expenditure  small,  so  that  all  his 
gains  were  kept  to  accumulate  in  his  hands ;  while 
the  wealthy  nobles,  who  lived  in  great  state,  ex- 
pended their  money  as  fast  as  they  made  it.  All 
this  excited  jealousy.  Antenore's  malicious  hints 
stirred  up  suspicion,  and  large  numbers  of  people 
were  influenced  by  him  to  look  upon  Galbajo  as  a 
successful  knave  and  hypocrite,  who  under  a  pre- 
tence of  great  simplicity  concealed  a  long  career 
of  duplicity  and  crime. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs,  when  one  day  a 
ship  arrived  from  Smyrna  for  Galbajo.  It  was 
just  the  time  when  the  truce  with  the  Turks  had 
ended,  and  war  had  recommenced.  All  other 
merchants  had  recalled  their  ships.  These  ships 
were  in  the  docks,  and  the  merchants  were  idle, 


ANTENORE  AND  GALBAJO.  65 

without  much  hope  of  resuming  active  enterprises. 
At  such  a  time  as  this  the  arrival  of  Galbajo's  ship 
excited  universal  comment,  and  Antenore  intensi- 
fied the  suspicions  that  were  expressed.  Who 
was  G'llbajo,  that  he  could  do  business  when  all 
other  merchants  arc  idle  ?  How  does  it  happen 
that  he  alone  is  not  affected  by  the  war  ?  There 
must  bo  some  reason  for  this ;  and  the  reason  is, 
that  he  has  a  secret  and  treasonable  understanding 
with  the  enemy.  Such  were  Antenore's  words, 
and  these  sentiments  were  soon  so  wide-spread 
that  the  government  took  it  up,  and  Galbajo  was 
arrested. 

The  explanation  which  he  gave  to  his  judges 
was  simple  and  straightforward.  According  to 
this,  his  ship  had  left  Smyrna  before  the  outbreak 
of  the  war,  but  had  met  with  various  unavoidable 
delays.  A  tempest  had  forced  her  to  take  refuge 
in  Corfu,  where  she  had  been  overhauled,  and  re- 
ceived repairs.  This  would  account  for  the  arrival 
of  the  ship  from  a  Turkish  port  in  time  of  war. 

This  simple  explanation,  however,  was  not  re- 
ceived. The  influence  of  Antenore  was  strong, 
and  his  dark  suggestions  were  listened  to  only 
too  readily.  Galbajo's  statement  was  taken  to  be 
the  cunning  invention  of  one  who  had  prepared 
himself  for  the  possibility  of  discovery,  and  had 
armed  himself  against  it.  It  was  plausible,  but 
the  accusation  was  more  probable.  It  was  more 
likely  that  Galbajo  should  be  successful  as  a  rogue 


56  THE  WINGED  LION. 

than  as  an  honest  man.  The  result  was,  that  Gal- 
bajo  was  found  guilty.  The  sentence  was  a  severe 
one.  He  was  condemned  for  plotting  treason 
against  the  state.  The  ordinary  punishment  was 
death ;  but,  as  there  was  some  flaw  in  the  evidence, 
the  judges  gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and 
were  willing  to  consider  the  charge  as  not  exactly 
proved.  His  lifi^  would  therefore  be  spared,  and 
the  ctate  would  be  satisfied  with  banishing  him  for 
life.  At  the  same  time  one  half  of  his  property 
was  to  be  confiscated.     ^  -  *        >   ^         .-^ 

The  confiscation  of  one  half  of  Galbajo\s  property 
meant  the  loss  of  nearly  all,  for  it  was  disposed  of 
by  a  forced  sale,  and  in  time  of  war,  too,  so  that  it 
was  virtually  sacrificed.  Then,  after  the  loss  of  all, 
the  unfortunate  Galbajo  found  before  him  a  still 
greater  loss  —  that  of  his  country.  His  sentence 
was  banishment  for  life,  and  with  the  wreck  of  his 
property  he  prepared  to  leave.  Ho  knew  well  who 
it  was  that  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  all  his  mis- 
fortunes. An  tenor  e  never  had  taken  any  pains  to 
conceal  his  hate,  and  Galbajo  had  heard  of  all  his 
words  and  acts.  But  opposition  was  useless,  and 
resistance  impossible  ;  so  he  submitted  without  a 
word,  and  left  the  unjust  city  to  go  in  his  old  age 
on  a  far  distant  exile. 

The  war  now  went  on.  The  Turks  were  trl- 
nmphant  everywhere.  The  Venetian  fleets  were 
driven  from  the  sea,  and  the  Crescent  flag  waved 
proudly  where  once  had  floated  the  haughty  Lion 


ANTENORE  AND  GALBAJO.  67 

of  St.  Mark.  Defeat  followed  defeat.  The  Vene- 
tians sank  into  despondency.  At  length  all  these 
misfortunes  culminated  in  the  tidings  which  came 
one  day  —  that  the  last  fleet  of  the  republic  had 
been  worsted  in  a  great  naval  action ;  that  it  had 
fled  in  disgrace,  with  the  loss  of  half  its  ships ; 
that  thousands  of  Venetians  had  been  made  prison- 
ers ;  and  that  the  command  of  the  seas  was  lost  for- 
ever. With  the  general  distress  we  have  nothing 
to  do.  It  is  enough  to  add,  that  among  those  who 
were  captured  by  the  Turks  was  the  only  son  of 
Antenore. 

To  that  unhappy  noble  this  blow  was  a  crushing 
one.  All  the  hopes  of  his  family  had  been  centred 
upon  this  voung  man ;  for  he  was  the  only  son,  and 
the  last  prop  of  an  ancient  house.  To  him,  and  to 
him  alone,  the  father  looked  as  his  successor  to  the 
proud  honors  of  the  Antenori,  and  as  the  stay  and 
solace  of  his  declining  years.  Now  he  was  gone, 
and  with  him  the  family  name  and  family  fame 
would  sink  into  oblivion. 

There  was  no  hope  whatever  to  Antenore.  It 
was  not  then  as  it  is  now,  in  this  nineteentli  cen- 
tury, when  civilized  nations  are  at  war,  and  efforts 
are  made  to  alleviate  its  inevitable  horrors ;  when 
the  prisoners  are  treated  with  humanity,  and  have 
hopes  of  speedy  exchange.  War  in  this  age  was 
very  different,  and  especially  so  when  it  was  war 
between  Turks  and  Christians.  In  one  sense 
there  was  always  war  with  the  Turks.     The  Mo- 


68  THE  WINGED   LION. 

hammcdans  would  never  consent  to  make  peace. 
They  always  called  it  a  truce,  and  made  it  for  a 
stipulated  term  of  years,  but  always  merely  for  their 
own  convenience.  During  these  times  of  truce, 
there  was  often  an  exchange  of  prisoners,  and  also 
a  chance  for  ransoming  Christian  captives,  if  they 
could  only  be  found.  But  now  all  chance  of  ex- 
change or  ransom  was  far,  far  away,  for  the  war 
had  only  begun.  Years  must  pass  before  it  could 
be  ended  ;  and  who  could  say  whether  Venice  her- 
self might  survive  until  then.  All  those  years  the 
captive  must  languish.  The  thought  was  anguish 
to  Antenore.  Willingly  would  he  have  given  his 
own  life  to  redeem  that  beloved  son  from  captivity. 
Such  a  fate  was  worse  than  death.  For  death, 
with  all  its  horror,  once  past,  might  be  endured, 
and  the  bereaved  ones  might  be  soothed  by  time ; 
but  captivity  forced  itself  forever  on  the  thoughts ; 
and  the  wretched  father  bore  with  him  always  the 
image  of  his  son,  pining  in  chains,  fainting  under 
the  scourge,  or  dying  daily  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  Palazzo  Antenore  was  shrouded  in  gloom. 
All  joy  was  banished.  The  stricken  mother  sank 
under  this  blow,  and  could  only  wish  for  death. 
The  father  tried  to  bear  it  with  a  Stoic's  pride ; 
but  pride  was  only  a  poor  support  when  mental 
anguish  was  undermining  all  the  foundations  of 
life.  Yet  still  he  struggled  as  well  as  he  could 
against  his  deep  affliction,  and  tried  to  find  in  the 
routine  duties  of  his  official  station  some  means  of 
distracting  his  thoughts. 


ANTENORE   AND   OAI.BAJO.  59 

At  length,  one  day  there  came  a  galley  to 
Venice.  A  young  man  disembarked,  and,  taking 
a  gondola,  proceeded  to  the  Palazzo  Antenore. 
The  vast  pile  looked  gloomy  and  deserted.  A 
few  servants  stood  in  the  hall  with  dreary  and 
dejected  looks.  No  longer  were  there  those  gay 
throngs  which  of  old  had  filled  the  great  house 
with  life  and  animation.  All  was  desolation  and 
melancholy.     .  ,.     . 

The  young  man  rushed  in.  The  servants  stared 
in  amazement.  He  dashed  by  them  without  a 
word,  ascending  the  grand  staircase,  and  travers- 
ing the  great  gallery,  whose  walls  were  covered 
with  pictures,  until  at  length  he  reached  a  room  at 
the  end.     This  he  entered. 

There  was  but  one  occupant  in  the  room  —  an 
old  man,  who  sat  with  his  head  bowed  in  his 
hands.  So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  thoug!its  that 
he  neither  saw  nor  heard  the  new  comer.  The 
young  man  stood  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  up 
to  him.  V  . . 

^'Father! 

It  was  but  a  single  word.  At  the  sound  of  that 
word,  and  of  that  voice,  the  old  man  started  to  his 
feet,  and  stared  at  the  new  comer  with  a  white  face, 
and  something  like  horror  in  his  look. 

"  0,  my  son  I "  he  moaned  ;  "  0,  my  son  !  Is  it  all 
over  ?     Do  you  come  from  the  dead  to  tell  —  !  " 

"  The  dead  ! "  cried  the  other,  catching  the  old 
man  in  his  embrace.     "  No,  thank  God  1  I  am  alive. 


60  THE  WINGED  LION. 

I  have  just  arrived,  and  have  hurried  here  to  bring 
you  the  good  news." 

The  old  man  trembled,  but  it  was  with  excess  of 
litter  joy.  He  could  not  say  one  word ;  but  holding 
his  beloved  son  in  his  arms,  he  clung  to  him,  and 
sobbed  convulsively.  ;     v 

"  My  mother,"  said  the  young  man,  "  how  is  she  ? 
Is  she  —  is  she  alive?"  -.  . 

"  Yes,"  said  Antenore.  "  O,  yes,  come  —  come 
and  raise  her  up  from  her  despair.  Come  and 
show  her  that  her  son  yet  lives.  But  no  —  wait 
—  not  yet  —  the  shock  will  be  too  much.  Let  me 
go  first,  and  prepare  her.     Wait." 

He  retired  hastily,  and  after  a  few  moments'  ab- 
sence returned.  Another  was  with  him,  wild  with 
joy.  It  was  the  mother,  who  bad  read  the  wonder- 
ful news  in  her  husband's  face,  and  without  waiting 
for  any  words,  had  hurried  forth  to  meet  her  son. 

That  meeting  cannot  be  described.  For  a  long 
time  nothing  was  uttered  except  ejaculations  ex- 
pressive of  every  variation  of  love,  wonder,  and 
joy.  But  at  last,  as  the  first  rush  of  feeling  began 
to  subside,  they  were  eager  to  know  how  he  had 
escaped,  or  whether  he  had  been  a  captive  at  all. 

"  A  captive  I "  said  the  young  man.  "  Ay,  that  I 
have  been,  and  I  have  tasted  all  the  utmost  bitter- 
ness of  such  a  lot.  But  Heaven  had  pity  on  me, 
and  sent  to  me,  in  my  misery,  the  noblest  of  men. 
He  saved  me." 

"  Saved  you  ?     What  I  "  cried  Antenore.     "  Is 


ANTENORE  AND  GALEA  JO.  61 

there  any  living  man  who  has  done  this  thing  ?  0 
that  I  could  see  him  !  Is  ho  here  ?  Did  ho  come 
with  you  ?  Why  did  you  not  bring  him  with  you  ? 
O  thit  I  could  see  him  I  If  he  is  poor,  I  would 
share  with  him  all  that  I  have  in  the  world  ;  if  he 
is  rich,  I  would  seek  to  keep  him  here  with  mo  ; 
and  in  either  case,  I  would  fall  on  my  knees  before 
him,  and  tell  him  that  1  thanked  him  as  I  thank 
my  God." 

"  ITe  did  not  come  with  me,"  said  the  son  ;  "  he 
is  a  Greek.  He  is  rich  also,  and  needs  no  reward. 
God  alone  can  reward  him ;  we  never  can.  His 
name  is  Angelus."     '  ;•  ^  ;'    .■ 

"  Angelus  I  Rightly  is  he  called  Angelus," 
cried  Antenore,  "  for  he  has  been  an  angel,  sent 
by  Heaven  to  restore  my  son.  Is  he  indeed  a 
mortal  man  ?  A  Greek !  Impossible.  Are  you  sure 
that  he  is  a  mortal  man  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  man,"  said  the  son,  "  yet  the  noblest 
of  men.  He  saw  me  languishing,  sick,  broken- 
hearted, dying.  He  purchased  me.  He  took  me 
to  his  home.  He  nursed  me,  and  brought  me  back 
to  life  and  health.  Never  did  any  one  man  show 
such  love  to  another.  It  was  as  though  my  own 
father  had  found  me,  and  had  saved  me.  And  I 
loved  him  as  a  son,  for  I  saw  that  he  loved  me  as 
a  father.  0,  father  !  0,  mother  !  pray  while  you 
live  for  the  noble  Angelus,  who  saved  me  from 
my  agony.  And  he,  too,  had  his  sorrows.  I  could 
see  that  he  was  a  man  of  woe  —  a  man  who  had 


62  THE  WINGED   LION. 

suffcrcfl  somo  groat  borcavomcfnt.  It  seemed  to 
me  always  as  if  lie  had  lost  an  only  son,  and 
that  I  reminded  him  of  that  son,  and  therefore  he 
loved  me." 

The  aged  parents  sat  close  by  their  son,  each 
holding  a  hand.  There  seemed  to  them  something 
inexpressibly  sad  in  this  description  of  Angelas  — 
the  one  who  had  lost  an  only  son.  Tears  came  to 
their  eyes ;  they  pressed  more  closely  the  hands  of 
that  dear  one  who  had  been  lost,  but  restored. 

"  It  was  his  very  love  for  me,"  continued  the 
son,  "  which  sent  me  home.  Had  his  love  been 
less,  he  might  have  kept  me,  and  merely  sent  word 
to  you  of  my  safety  ;  but  ho  loved  me  so  well  that 
he  sacrificed  even  his  own  feelings ;  and  I  know 
this,  for  he  told  me  so  himself.  '  Your  father,' 
said  he  to  me, '  does  not  love  you  better  than  I. 
It  is  because  I  love  you  so  well,  that  1  can  bear 
to  give  you  up.  I  shall  be  happier  in  your  happi- 
ness than  in  my  own.  I  shall  miss  you ;  but  I 
shall  always  console  myself  that  you  are  happy 
with  your  parents,  and  in  your  dear  native  land.' " 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?  "  said  Antenore,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice.  "  Did  he  say  that  ?  Then,  0,  my  son, 
I  can  find  it  in  my  heart  to  wish  that  you  had 
staid  with  him  longer,  and  merely  sent  me  word 
of  your  safety." 

"  I  proposed  this,"  said  the  son,  "  but  he  would 
not  consent.  '  No,'  said  he  ;  '  go  home.  Your  par- 
ents are  old.  Go  now,  or  you  may  never  see  them 
again  ; '  and  so  I  left  him." 


ANTENORE   AND   GALBAJO.  63 

"  0,  may  tho  Lord  of  mercy  bless  the  man  who 
showed  such  love  and  mercy  to  my  son  ! " 

Such  was  the  ejaculation  of  Antcnoro  at  the  con- 
clusion of  his  son's  story. 

"  He  gave  mo  a  letter,"  said  the  son,  "  for  you." 

"  A  letter  I  for  me  I "  said  Antenoro.  "  0,  lot  me 
see  it." 

Tho  son  drew  forth  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  his  father.  Antenoro  drew  off  a  little, 
and  with  a  face  of  eager  and  joyous  anticipation, 
broke  the  seal.     He  road  tlie  following :  — 

"  With  this  letter  you  will  receive  back  to  your 
heart  your  only  son,  the  last  of  your  line.  It  is 
not  because  he  is  an  Antenore  that  I  have  helped 
him,  but  because  I  was  won,  in  spite  of  myself,  by 
his  face,  by  his  looks,  and  by  the  tones  of  his  voice ; 
for  they  all  brought  back  before  mo  my  beloved, 
my  lost  Venice.  Banished  by  you,  I  came  to 
Alexandria,  and  live  here  in  disguise  as  a  Greek ; 
but  my  heart  clings  to  my  country,  and  for  me 
there  is  nothing  but  misery  in  exile.  I  have 
wealth  and  comforts,  but  these  are  nothing.  I 
met  your  son  by  chance,  and  I  Icved  him  as  my 
own  son,  for  he  was  a  Venetian.  Willingly  would 
I  have  kept  him  with  me  to  soothe  my  exile,  but 
I  loved  him  too  well  for  that,  and  so  I  send  him 
home.  Take  him,  then,  for  j^ou  are  his  father ; 
take  him  —  a  gift  from  the  man  you  most  hate  ; 
take  him  from  the  man  whom  you  never  expected 


64  TT/B  WINGED   LION. 

to  find  yonr  benefactor;  for  know,  0  Antenore, 
that  the  deliverer  of  your  only  bol  from  slavery  is 
—  the  banished  Galbajo." 

Antenore  dropped  the  letter  from  his  trembling 
hands.  II is  face  lost  that  flush  of  joy  which  his 
Ron's  return  had  brought,  and  was  now  livid  with 
horror.  Ho  could  only  gasp  one  word,  and  that 
was, — 

"  Galhojo  / " 

Ho  was  overwhelmed  now  with  remorse  and 
bitter  self-reproach.  Now  he  learned,  when  too 
late,  the  true  character  of  that  man  whose  noble 
heart  had  been  well  nigh  broken  by  the  torments 
which  had  been  inflicted  upon  him.  And  why  ? 
For  no  otlior  cause  than  a  cursed  jealousy.  And 
this  was  his  return.  His  joy  at  the  sight  of  his 
son  was  marred  by  this  remorse,  and  he  felt  that 
he  could  never  know  peace  of  mind  again  until  he 
should  see  Galbajo  in  Venice. 

To  this  work  he  now  devoted  himself.  He  was 
successful.  Antenore's  explanations,  and  his  story 
of  Galbajo's  noble  conduct,  together  with  the  influ- 
ence which  he  had  in  high  quarters,  led  to  meas- 
ures which  ended  in  an  order  for  the  termination 
of  the  period  of  banishment.  A  Turkish  prisoner 
was  found,  who  was  released  in  order  to  convey  to 
Alexandria  the  welcome  news.  Galbajo  received 
the  letters  sent  him,  and  succeeded  in  eftecting  his 
escape.     Ho  at  length  returned  to  Venice,  and 


ANTENORE  AND  OALBAJO.  65 

there  Antennro  fulfilled  the  promise  that  he  had 
made  in  the  first  meeting  with  his  son  ;  ail  the  fer- 
vent gratitude  to  his  son's  benefixctor,  which  he 
had  then  expressed,  was  now  plainly  manifested  ; 
and  the  old  jealous  hatred  gave  way  to  respectful 
affection  and  intimate  friendship. 

6  :■  ..   ^ 


66  THE  WINGED  LION. 


CHAPTER  V.  :        , 

T^e  second  Story.  —  The  wonderful  Adventu7'es  of 

Soranzo. 

^T  was  a  great  festival  at  St.  Mark's.  The  in- 
terior of  the  gorgeous  clmrch  WiiS  filled  with 
a  devout  multitude.  The  altars  Avere  all 
ablaze  with  lights,  which  flashed  upon  the  poHshed 
marbles  and  the  gilded  domes.  The  smoke  of  in- 
cense rolled  on  high  ;  the  peal  of  the  organ  came 
reverberating  along  the  arches  ;  and  the  antipho- 
nal  chant  of  the  choristers  mingled  with  the  intoning 
of  the  priests,  or  the  miserere  of  five  thousand  wor- 
shippers. 

One  young  man  there  was  m  that  great  crowd 
who  did  not  seem  to  be  joining  in  the  common 
worsi  0.  The  object  of  his  worship  was  not  "  Our 
Lady,"  but  nevertheless  it  was  a  lady  of  slender 
and  graceful  figure,  who  was  kneeling  with  droop- 
ing head  upon  the  stone  pavement  not  far  away. 
He,  too,  was  kneeling,  yet  in  such  a  way  that  he 
could  look  at  her;  and  his  eyes  never  removed 
themselves  from  her.  It  was  a  face  of  exquisite 
beauty,  of  classic  features,  with  that  creamy  white 
complexion  which  is  so  rarely  found,  and  which 


THE  SECOND  STORY.  67 

was  long  the  boast  of  Venetians  as  the  chief  charm 
of  their  women.  The  head  was  bent  forward,  the 
downcast  eyes  sought  the  pavement,  and  the  long, 
silken  fringe  of  eyelashes  hid  them  from  sight.  As 
the  young  man  gazed,  she  raised  herself  and  looked 
full  towards  him.  Their  eyes  met^  a  slight  flush 
passed  over  her  face,  a  quick  smile  over  her  lips. 
It  was  a  recognition,  but  it  was  only  of  a  moment's 
duration,  for  her  eyes  once  more  fell,  and  she  did 
not  raise  them  again. 

At  length  the  service  was  over,  and  the  crowd 
began  to  disperse.  The  young  lady  walked  away 
along  with  an  elderly  woman,  her  attendant.  The 
young  man  followed  close,  and  in  the  crowd  suc- 
ceeded in  slipping  a  letter  into  the  lady's  hand, 
which  letter  was  taken  by  the  other  as  naturally 
as  though  she  had  expected  it.  Then  she  passed 
away. 

Bianca  Polani,  the  young  lady  just  mentioned, 
belonged  to  one  of  the  greatest  families  in  Venice. 
Her  father  had  won  distinction  at  home  and  abroad, 
and  was  noted  for  his  insatiable  ambition.  To  rise 
higher  and  higher  had  always  been  his  aim:  to 
those  above  him  he  was  obsequious,  to  those  be- 
low him  tyrannical ;  and  if  he  loved  his  beautifu"'. 
daughter,  it  was  rather  because  he  saw  in  her  the 
means  of  making  some  lofty  alliance  by  which 
he  might  gain  additional  rank  or  power.  From 
su3h  a  man  the  lady  Bianca's  lover,  Soranzo,  could 
never  hope  to  receive  any  favors  whatever.    Noth- 


68  THE  WINGED   LION. 

ing  was  against  Soranzo  but  his  poverty ;  yet  this, 
in  Venice,  was  a  dire  offence.  It  was  always  a 
purse-proud  community  —  an  aristocracy  of  mer- 
chant princes,  who  prided  tliemselves  on  their  lin- 
eage, it  is  true,  yet  always  allowed  the  genealogi- 
cal tree  to  be  influenced  by  the  ledger.  Soranzo's 
family  was  of  great  renown.  His  name  was  in- 
scribed on  the  Libro  d'  Oro,  the  Golden  Book,  which 
contained  the  names  of  the  Venetian  nobles.  Doges 
had  been  chosen  in  former'  ages  out  of  that  illustri- 
ous lino.  Their  very  downfall  had  been  glorious. 
It  was  during  the  war  of  Chiozza.  The  Sbranzi 
had  given  up  everything  that  they  possessed  in  the 
hour  of  their  country's  direst  need,  and  after  the 
struggle  was  over,  nothing  waS  left  but  the  walls 
of  their  ancestral  palace.  True,  the  state  had  en- 
deavored to  reward  all  those  who  had  done  it  ser- 
vice, but  its  rewards  were  chiefly  in  rank  and 
h  )nors.  The  wealth  of  the  Soranzi  never  came 
back.  Nothing  was  left  but  their  glorious  past ; 
and  Giuglio  Soranzo  entered  upon  life,  the  owner 
of  a  splendid  name,  and  an  empty  palace,  which 
was  going  to  ruin  from  its  very  vastness.  He  had 
seen  Bianca,  and  loved  her.  His  love  was  returned. 
They  had  met  and  told  their  mutual  love.  But 
their  meetings  had  to  be  clandestine,  for  the  poor 
Soranzo  could  not  be  admitted  to  pay  his  attentions 
to  the  daughter  of  the  wealthy  Polani. 

On  this  occasion,  Soranzo  had  given  Bianca  a 
note  which  imparted  very  important  intelligence. 


WONDERFUL   ADVENTURES  OF  SORANZO.  69 

For  the  young  man,  full  of  energy  and  hope,  could 
no  longer  live  in  idleness  at  Venice.  His  very  de- 
sire to  win  Bianca  prompted  him  to  be  up  and 
doing.  He  had,  therefore,  offered  his  services  to 
the  government.  His  offer  had  been  accepted,  and 
the  letter  informed  Bianca  of  his  speedy  depar- 
ture. It  also  implored  her  to  grant  him  a  final 
meeting  on  the  following  evening.  There  was  to 
be  a  masquerade  on  the  Piazza.  He  would  expect 
her. 

So  beautiful  and  wealthy  a  maiden  as  Bianca  was 
not  without  crowds  of  suitors,  but  among  them  all 
by  far  the  most  distinguished  was  Malapieri.  He 
was  about  as  old  as  Bianca's  father,  —  a  noble  of 
immense  wealth  f  id  great  distinction.  He  had 
lost  his  first  wife,  and  was  anxious  to  place  the 
beautiful  Bianca  over  his  household.  To  Polani 
this  proposal  was  most  acceptable.  An  alliance 
with  Malapieri  would  give  him  that  additional 
strength  which  he  desired,  in  order  to  advance 
himself  in  the  state  ;  and  therefore,  so  far  as  he 
could  act  in  the  matter,  the  affair  was  decided. 
Far  different,  however,  was  it  with  Bianca.  Apart 
from  her  love  of  Soranzo,  she  could  never  have 
consented  to  become  the  wife  of  Malapieri.  He 
was  old,  and  harsh,  and  abhorrent.  She  both  hated 
and  feared  him.  To  pass  her  life  with  such  a  man 
would  be  terrible.  Her  family,  however,  treated 
her  rep  ignance  with  indifference.  They  set  it 
down  as  a  young  girl's  whims.     At  the  same  time 


70  THE  WINGED  LION. 

they  suspected  that  she  might  have  some  love 
affair.  These  suspicions  were  communicated  to 
Malapieri,  and  Bianca  became  closely  watched. 

Bianca,  however,  had  one  faithful  friend.  This 
was  the  old  attendant  already  mentioned.  She 
had  taken  care  of  Bianca  all  her  life,  and  knew  all 
her  secrets,  not  excepting  even  this.  It  was  by 
her  connivance  that  Soranzo  had  been  able  to  speak 
to  his  love,  and  with  her  assistance  Bianca  expected 
to  see  him  again. 

The  masquerade  took  place.  Bianca  went  there 
with  her  attendant,  wearing  a  dress  which  Soranzo 
knew,  and  she  was  at  once  accosted  by  her  lover. 

"  I  cannot  live  without  you,"  said  he  j  "  and 
therefore  I  am  going  to  leave  you." 

"  To  leave  mo  ! "  she  repeated,  mournfully. 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  my  only  hope..  I  wish  to  win  dis- 
tinction, and  wealth  also.  I  have  got  a  post  in  the 
fleet  that  is  going  to  Negropont." 

"  Negropont  ?  " 

Bianca  could  say  nothing  ;  she  could  only  repeat 
these  words,  which  seemed  to  her  full  of  despair. 

"  It  is  best,"  said  Soranzo.  "  I  shall  have  a 
chance  to  distinguish  myself  Trust  me  ;  when  I 
come  back,  I  shall  no  longer  be  obliged  to  stand 
outside  your  door." 

Other  words  followed,  in  the  midst  of  which  Bi- 
anca suddenly  caught  Soranzo's  arm  with  a  convul- 
sive grasp. 

"  He  knew  us  I  "  she  murmured. 


MALAPIERI   ALARMED.  71 

"He?    Who?" 

Bianca  looked  towards  a  man  who  had  just  passed. 

"  It  is  Malapieri  1 '"'  she  said,  in  a  frightened  voice. 
"  I  know  his  dress.  He  stared  at  us  so  fiercely 
that  his  eyes  were  like  coals  of  fire.  He  must  be 
watching  us." 

Soranzo  knew  very  well  what  Malapieri's  atten- 
tions were;  and  lie  thought  it  quite  probable  that 
the  aged  lover  was  jealous. 

.  ■  "  0,  never  mind/'  said  he.  "That  danger  is  re- 
moved. For  Malapieri  is  to  command  the  fleet, 
and  so  he  will  not  trouble  you  till  he  returns." 

"Malapieri  I"  cried  Bianca,  in  consternation; 
"  and  you  I  —  are  you  going  with  him  ?  " 

"  0,  yes.  Malapieri's  appointment  was  very  sud- 
den. He  did  not  like  it,  but  could  not  get  out  of 
it.  It  came  in  a  very  flattering  way,  although  I 
dare  say  there  are  some  who  would  be  very  well 
pleased  if  he  never  came  back." 

"  I  know  one  person,"  said  Bianca,  with  a  little 
sigh.  ^ 

Their  interview  soon  ended.  Like  others,  it  was 
very  short,  and  soon  the  two  lovers  had  bidden  each 
other  a  long  farewell. 

The  forebodings  which  Bianca  had  felt  as  to  So- 
ranzo's  sailing  under  Malapieri  were  soon  proved 
to  be  well  founded  The  position  of  Malapieri  gave 
him  absolute  power  over  all  in  the  fleet ;  all  felt  his 
severity ;  but  most  of  all,  Soranzo.  He  had  dis- 
covered that  this  youth  was  the  object  of  Bianca's 


72  THE  WINGED   LION. 

favor,  without  whom  the  young  naiden  might  per- 
haps have  been  won  by  himself,  without  a  father's 
coercion.  Malapieri  was  therefore  full  of  jealous 
fury,  and  set  himself  on  the  watch  to  gratify  his 
passion  by  the  ruin  of  his  rival.  The  task  was  not 
a  difficult  one.  Words  of  bitter  insult  which  he 
addressed  to  Soranzo  were  resented  somewhat 
warmly,  whereupon  the  young  man  was  at  once 
arrested  and  put  in  irons.  It  was  a  wanton  exer- 
cise of  authority,  and  an  unlawful  act,  for  no  Vene- 
tian noble  could  bo  put  in  irons  except  by  the 
Council  of  Ten.  But  Malapieri  was  resolved  to 
take  the  consequences,  and  felt  confident  in  being 
able  to  hold  his  own  against  the  friendless  youth. 

On  reaching  the  mouth  of  the  Adriatic  Sea,  a 
Turkish  fleet  appeared.  It  was  not  superior  in 
numbers  to  that  of  Malapieri,  but  nevertheless  the 
Venetian  admiral  resolved  to  avoid  an  engage- 
ment. The  government,  he  said,  had  sent  him  to 
take  supplies  to  Negropont,  and  a  sea  fight,  even 
if  successful,  might  ruin  the  purpose  of  the  expe- 
dition. He  tliercfore  steered  in  another  direction, 
and  the  Turkish  fleet  set  forth  in  pursuit.  Now, 
when  Soranzo  had  been  thrown  in  irons,  he  had 
been  transferred  to  one  of  the  galleys,  which  was 
the  smallest  and  slowest  in  the  fleet  As  the  chase 
went  on,  this  galley  fell  behind  the  others.  Her 
captain  s'  ,^nalled,  but  in  vain.  Malapieri  paid  no 
attention  to  the  signals,  but  urging  on  the  rest  of 
the  fleet  to  the  utmost,  fled  at  full  speed.    The 


AN  END   TO   SORANZO'S   HOPES.  73 

Turks,  meanwhile,  pursued  with  equal  vigor,  and 
soon  overhauled  Soranzo's  galley.  In  an  instant  it 
was  boarded  and  captured,  and  all  were  made  pris- 
oners. After  this  the  Turks  kept  up  the  pursuit 
for  some  time,  but  without  gaining  on  the  fugitives, 
until  at  last,  as  evening  came,  the  Turkish  admiral 
signalled  to  return. 

So  ended  the  bright  hopes  of  Soranzo.  Stopped 
short  before  he  had  a  chance  to  strike  a  single 
blow  ;  instead  of  renown,  captivity ;  instead  of  Bi- 
anca,  a  brutal  Turkish  master  ;  he  might  well  have 
sunk  into  despair.  The  faint  hope  remained  of 
being  captured  by  a  Venetian  fleet,  but  even  this 
died  out,  and  he  found  himself  at  last  landed  at 
Smyrna,  where  lie  was  handed  over  with  some  oth- 
ers to  a  Turkish  aga,  who  lived  at  Yourla,  a  sea- 
port near  by. 

Malapieri  succeeded  in  reaching  Negropont ;  but 
here  a  series  of  disasters  befell  him.  The  Vene- 
tians were  beset  by  the  Turks.  Post  after  post  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  The  island  proved 
untenable.  It  was  lost  to  Venice,  and  at  length  the 
unfortunate  admiral  returned  in  a  single  miserable 
galley,  leaving  the  rest  of  his  fleet  in  the  hands  of 
the  Turks,  or  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  His  arri- 
val caused  consternation  in  Venice.  It  seemed 
ominous  of  the  future.  The  dreaded  Turk  was 
sweeping  away  from  Venice,  one  by  one,  those  pos- 
sessions for  which  she  had  expended  so  much  blood 
and  treasure.    The  Christian  capital  of  the  East  had 


74  THE  WINGED   LION. 

fallen.  The  Morea  was  lost.  Candia  was  threat- 
ened. Venice  was  insulted  in  her  own  waters,  and 
the  espousal  of  the  Adriatic  was  fast  growing  a 
miserable  mockery  The  Crescent  was  driving 
out  the  Cross ;  the  Mediterranean  was  growing  a 
Turkish  lake  ;  and  soon  the  fierce  sultan  would  be 
sending  his  navies  to  attack  Venice  itself.  Such 
was  the  universal  feeling;  and  if  Malapieri  escaped 
blame,  it  was  because  all  men,  in  their  dejection,  at- 
tributed his  failure  to  the  general  ill  fortune  which 
had  come  UDon  Venice.  -   ' 

Malapieri  now  returned  to  his  palace,  glad  that 
he  had  saved  his  own  precious  life,  and  eager  now 
to  carry  through  the  important  project  of  marry- 
ing Bianca.  He  would  make  amends  for  his  mis- 
fortunes abroad  by  seeking  after  happiness  at 
home,  and  successful  love  should  requite  him  for 
unsuccessful  ambition. 

Meanwhile  Bianca  had  heard  all ;  she  had  heard 
that  Soranzo  had  been  mutinous,  had  been  arrested, 
and  had  been  captured  by  the  Turks.  Malapieri 
himself  told  her  his  own  story,  and  added  that  it 
was  fortunate  that  Soranzo  had  been  captured,  for 
if  he  had  been  brought  back  to  Venice  he  would 
have  been  executed.  This  speech  only  increased 
Bianca's  hate  towards  Malapieri ;  yet  at  the  same 
time  the  thought  of  her  lover's  hopeless  captivity 
preyed  upon  her  heart.  She  lost  all  taste  for 
pleasure,  shut  herself  up,  and  rapidly  grew  ill. 
The  physician  came  to  see  her,  but  could  do  noth- 


IMPATIENCE   OP   MALAPIERI.  75 

ing.  In  fact,  Bianca's  wretchedness  was  far  be- 
yond the  skill  of  any  physician.  Her  father  saw 
it  all  with  deep  concern.  Her  mother  understood 
the  cause,  and  said  that  her  heart  was  broken. 
And  so  for  a  while  they  forbore  to  say  anything 
about  Malapieri. 

But  Malapieri  was  impatient.  He  was  advanced 
in  years.  Bianca,  he  said,  could  afibrd  to  wait,  but 
he  couldn't.  Better  to  marry  now,  and  no  doubt 
under  his  tender  care  she  would  soon  grow  better. 
Old  Polani  was  won  over  by  this,  and  began  to  in- 
sist on  Bianca's  marriage.  He  himself  made  a  set 
speech  to  her,  in  which  he  spoke  solemnly  of  the 
necessity  of  children  obeying  their  parents.  To 
all  of  this  Bianca  said  not  one  word,  but  afterwards, 
as  she  lay  weeping  on  her  mother's  bosom,  she 
sobbed  out,  "  I  shall  die ;  drive  me  from  you  if  you 
choose  ;  but  at  least  you  might  let  me  die  at  home, 
and  not  among  strangers  whom  I  hate.'' 

''  0,  no,"  said  her  mother,  who  tried  to  console 
her,  though  it  was  with  tearful  eyes  and  quaking 
heart.  "  0,  no,  dearest  child  ;  you  will  live  to  be 
the  first  lady  in  Venice  —  perhaps  the  dogaressa." 

While  Bianca  was  thus  mourning  and  weeping, 
Soranzo  was  far  away  in  Yourla,  a  slave,  laboring 
with  other  slaves  about  the  estate  'of  his  master. 
But  his  ardent  and  impetuous  nature  never  for  one 
moment  subn^^tted  to  his  fate  ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
always  •  lookeu  t  with  sleepless  vigilance  to  see 
if  there  were  any  chances  of  escape. 


76  THE  WINGED  LION. 

There  were  other  Christian  captives  here,  and  a 
Turkish  guard  was  considered  sufllcient  to  prevent 
any  attempt  at  escape,  so  that  they  Avere  not  bound. 
With  these,  Soranzo  discussed  tho  chances  of 
flight,  and  soon  proposed  to  them  a  daring  plan. 
Out  in  tho  little  harbor  was  a  galley,  which  Avas 
used  by  the  ap-a  for  certain  duties  to  which  he  was 
appointed,  lucre  were  two  hundred  Christian 
slaves  on  board  at  the  oars,  with  a  small  guard  of 
Turkish  marines.  The  plan  of  Soranzo  was  to  take 
advantage  of  the  moment  when  the  Turks  were  at 
prayer,  attack  them,  disarm  them,  seize  the  galley, 
and  fly. 

It  was  a  bold  plan,  and  was  crowned  with  com- 
plete success.  The  Turks  were  overpowered,  their 
arms  were  seized,  and  a  rush  w^as  then  made  upon 
the  galley.  The  marines  here  fired  a  few  shots 
without  effect,  and  then  in  a  panic  leaped  into  the 
sea.  Soranzo,  in  a  few  fierce  words,  told  the  Chris- 
tian rowers  what  had  happened,  and  bade  them 
row  for  their  lives  if  they  hoped  ever  again  to 
see  their  country  and  their  friends.  The  rowers 
understood  the  whole,  Hnd  rowed  as  they  had  never 
done  before.  The  galley  stood  out  to  sea,  several 
Turkish  ships  of  war  were  passed,  but  no  pursuit 
was  made,  for  the  galley  was  supposed  to  be  on 
duty. 

On  the  following  day  they  were  far  out  at  sea. 
Here  they  fell  in  with  a  Turkish  galle}^.  Soranzo's 
rowers  were  exhausted  ;  to  fly  was  impossible ;  to 


SORANZO   AT   THE   HELM.  77 

figlit  was  equally  so,  for  the  supply  of  arms  was 
inadequate.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  all 
was  lost,  but  before  long  his  inventive  genius,  stim- 
ulated by  the  desperate  poril  around  liim,  contrived 
a  plan  of  attack.  Sending  men  aloft,  he  loosened 
tiie  fastenings  of  the  long  yard  by  which  it  was 
bound  to  the  mast,  and  also  unfurled  the  immense 
sail.  The  sail  caught  the  wind ;  Soranzo  stood  at 
the  helm,  and  directing  the  men  to  row  with  all 
their  might,  bore  down  full  upon  the  Turkish  gal- 
ley. The  Turks,  unprepared  for  this  sudden  at- 
tack, hauled  round  so  as  to  rake  Soranzo's  vessel 
with  a  volley  of  all  sorts  of  missiles.  Soranzo  re- 
ceived the  volley,  but  without  much  harm,  and  still 
drove  on.  The  Turks  prepared  to  board.  Soran- 
zo's galley  struck  the  enemy's  quarter,  and  as  they 
were  all  crowded  together  there,  so  as  to  board, 
the  immense  yard,  with  its  sail  loosened  from  its 
fastenings  by  the  shock  of  the  collision,  fell  upon 
them,  entangling  and  half  smothering  them  in  its 
folds ;  so  that  Soranzo  and  his  men,  who  poured  on 
board,  captured  them  all  without  resistance. 

The  prize  was  a  great  one.  Five  hundred  Chris- 
tians were  at  the  oars.  These  were  freed  at  once. 
Two  hundred  Turks  laid  down  their  arms.  These 
were  distributed  among  the  rescued  Christians. 
What  was  better,  great  stores  of  weapons  were 
found,  sufficient  to  arm  all  the  Christians  in  both 
ships,  so  that  they  now  felt  themselves  equal  to  en- 
counter any  Turkish  force.     Finallyj  the   Turkish 


78  THE   WINGED   LION. 

prisoners  were  consigned  to  the  oars,  and  forced 
to  row  the  galleys.  The  number,  however,  was 
not  quite  suflicient,  so  that  the  Christians  were  in- 
termingled with  them.  * 

They  now  resumed  their  journey.  For  three 
days  notliing  happened,  but  on  the  fourth  they  en- 
countered three  Turkish  ships.  Soranzo  was  bent 
upon  an  encounter.  In  a  fiery  harangue  he  poured 
his  own  spirit  into  his  followers.  "  Let  us  not  go 
back  home  empty-handed,"  he  cried.  "  Let  us  re- 
venge ourselves  on  these  devils  for  all  our  wrongs. 
Those  ships  must  be  ours,  or  I  will  not  survive  the 
fight."  • 

The  men  responded  with  a  wild  cheer.  Up  went 
the  standard  of  Venice  to  the  mast-head,  displaying 
the  proud  blazonry  of  the  Winged  Lion  of  St.  Mark, 
and  Soranzo  bore  down  upon  the  enemy. 

He  had  now  thought  upon  another  manoeuvre, 
and  had  instructed  his  men  to  carry  it  out.  The 
first  galley  was  to  engage  the  smallest  of  the  Turks, 
board  her,  and  carry  her  by  force  of  superior  num- 
bers, and  while  fighting,  free  the  Christian  oars- 
men. He  himself  determined  to  engage  the  other 
two. 

He  now  caused  all  the  heaviest  weights  on  board 
to  be  placed  on  one  side.  On  a  given  signal  the 
men  were  to  rush  to  that  side  so  as  to  bear  down 
the  galley,  and  then  make  an  attack  upon  the  T'urks 
from  that  direction.  With  this  plan  he  drove  upon 
the  enemy,  and  soon  had  closed  with  them.     He 


CHRISTIAN  ROWERS   FREED.  79 

steered  BO  as  to  bring  liis  galley  between  two  of 
tlio  largest ;  and  then,  just  as  ho  reached  them,  he 
gave  the  word  of  command.  In  an  instant  several 
hundred  men  sprang  to  tho  port  side  of  the  galley, 
and  bore  it  down  deep  in  the  water ;  at  tho  same 
instant  all  the  oars  on  the  starboard  side  were 
raised  high,  and  formed  a  palisade  through  which 
the  Turks  on  tho  ship  on  that  side  could  not  pass. 
At  the  same  time,  the  Turkish  galley  on  the  port 
side,  which  had  drawn  up  close  so  as  to  board,  was 
secured  with  grappling-irons,  and  the  Christians 
flung  themselves  aboard  of  her.  They  freed  tho 
Christian  rowers,  and  armed  them.  The  struggle 
w^as  lierce,  but  the  Turks  were  altogether  outnum- 
bered, and  threw  down  their  arms. 

Meanwhile  the  starboard  Turkish  ship,  bewil- 
dered bv  this  unheard-of  manoeuvre,  tried  to  board 
Soranzo's  galley,  and  drew  in  closer,  just  as  the  ^ 
men  were  assailing  tho  ship  on  the  port  side.  The 
sudden  departure  of  such  a  body  of  men  caused 
Soranzo's  galley  to  sink  back  to  her  former  posi- 
tion, in  doing  which,  the  oars  of  the  starboard  gal- 
ley were  drawn  down  under  her  bottom,  and  all 
entangled  and  broken,  while  Soranzo's  oars  came 
down  upon  the  heads  of  the  Turks  on  her  deck, 
filling  them  with  confusion. 

At  this  instant,  Soranzo,  with  a  shout,  led  the 
remainder  of  his  men  into  the  midst  of  the  disor- 
dered Turks  in  the  starboard  galley.  He  was  fol- 
lowed by  crowds  of  the  ^reed   Christian   rowers 


80  THE  WINGED  LION. 

from  the  port  galley.  The  Turks  ibught  fiercely, 
but  the  Christians  fought  with  the  fury  of  tigers. 
The  burning  words  of  Soranzo  rang  in  their  ears, 
and  stirred  them  to  madness.  They  were  fighting, 
not  for  life  or  liberty,  but  for  revenge.  They  had 
been  made  captive,  and  exiled.  They  haci  been 
subjected  to  mockery,  and  bloWs,  and  insults,  from 
wretched  barbarians  whom  they  despised ;  now 
was  the  hour  for  vengeance,  when  they  could  make 
a  fit  return  for  all  that  they  had  sufi'ered.  Again 
the  Christian  rowers  in  this  g  loy  were  freed,  and 
lent  their  aid  in  the  strife.  The  Turks  were  every- 
where outnumbered,  yet  still  resisted,  and  rallied 
round  the  poop,  where  their  commander,  a  huge 
Moor,  cimeter  in  hand,  hurled  defiance  at  his  ene- 
mies. 

Towards  this  man  Soranzo  forced  his  way  at  the 
head  of  his  bravest  followers.  As  he  came  within 
reach,  the  huge  Moor  raised  his  cimeter.  The  next 
instant  it  descended  like  a  flash  ;  but  Soranzo  was 
a  master  of  fence,  and  as  the  weapon  fell  it  struck 
his  uplifted  rapier,  and  glided  aside  harmless,  while, 
in  a  moment  after,  that  rapier  had  pierced  the  heart 
of  the  Moor  through  and  through. 

At  the  fall  of  the  Moor  a  cry  of  despair  escaped 
the  Turks,  They  threw  down  their  arms.  The 
Christians  stopped  in  their  career  of  victory.  It 
was  Soranzo's  stern  command. 

"  Kill  no  more  1 ''  he  cried.  "  Put  these  prisoners 
at  the  Ot*rs.    We  want  them  all,  for  we  must  cut 


TRIEMPH   OF   80RANZ0.  81 

our  way  throngh  other  Turkish  fleets  before  we 
reach  home."  v  „     ■.  ■ 

Meanwhile  the  other  galley  had  been  engaged  in 
a  fierce  fight.  But  Soranzo's  tactics  had  given  the 
Christians  the  advantage.  They  had  flung  them- 
selves on  board  the  Turk,  and  had  at  once  set  free 
and  armed  the  Christian  rowers.  The  fight  was  on 
the  deck  of  the  Turkish  galley,  and  was  kept  up 
obstinately  until  the  fall  of  the  Moor.  Then  these 
men,  seeing  the  surrender  of  the  others,  likewise 
flung  down  their  arms.  The  prisoners  were  now 
put  at  the  oars,  and  the  victorious  Christians  pre- 
pared to  resume  their  voyage. 

Upon  looking  around,  Soranzo  discovered,  to  his 
amazement,  thr.u  the  largest  vessel  was  the  very 
one  which  had  been  commanded  by  Malapieri.  It 
had  been  captured  at  Negropont.  From  this,  So- 
ranzo, for  the  first  time,  knew  that  his  enemy  must 
have  met  with  disaster.  This  discovery  made  his 
triumph  seem  all  the  sweeter. 

And  now  the  vestiges  of  the  conflict  were  all 
effaced.  Turks  replaced  Christians  at  the  oara, 
while  at  the  mast-head  of  the  largest  galley  floated 
a  Yciietian  flag,  which  Soranzo  found  on  board. 
Expecting  other  fights,  he  kept  in  constant  prepa- 
ration, but  his  anticipations  were  not  fulfilled.  No 
more  enemies  appeared;  and  at  ler^gth,  far  away  on 
the  northern  horizon,  the  rejoicing  Christians  saw 
the  lofty  tower  of  St.  Mark's. 

Soranzo's  fleet  arrived  at  a  time  when  no  one 
6 


82  THE  WINGED  LION. 

was  expecting  anything.  There  were  marks  of 
triumph,  too,  about  the  new  comers  which  riveted 
the  gaze  of  all.  High  in  air  floated  the  proud  Lion 
of  St.  Mark's,  with  streamers  dancing  all  around  in 
the  breeze,  while  from  the  stern  of  all  the  ships 
were  trailed  the  Crescent  flags  of  the  Turks.  Some 
of  the  ships  had  a  Venetian  look,  others  weie  evi- 
dently Turkish  ;  yet  these  all  formed  part  of  some 
triumph  which  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark  had  won  —  a 
triumph  most  wonderful,  most  unaccountable,  yet 
most  sweet,  since  it  came  upon  the  heels  of  so  many 
disasters.  As  the  fleet  drew  nearer,  it  seemed  as 
though  the  whole  population  had  gone  forth  in 
boats.  The  water  was  covered  with  them.  Those 
who  first  reached  the  galleys  heard  the  news,  and 
from  them  it  passed  to  others,  amplified  and  en- 
larged with  the  usual  exaggerations.  A  great 
Turkish  fleet  had  been  destroyed ;  five  thousand 
Christians  had  been  freed  ;  such  were  some  of  the 
rumors  ;  yet  among  all,  there  was  one  name  which 
was  upon  the  lips  of  all,  a  name  about  which  there 
could  bo  no  mistake  ;  a  naii'ie  once  illustrious  in 
Venetian  history,  but  never  before  associated  with 
so  splendid  an  achievement  as  this — the  name  of 
Soranzo  ! 

Soranzo  came  back,  and  all  Venice  had  already 
known  how  he  had  gone  away.  He  had  been  dis- 
honored by  Malapieri  —  by  that  Malapieri  who  had 
delivered  him  up  as  a  captive  to  the  Turk,  who 
had  fled  in  terror  from  pursuers,  who  had  lost  a 


SORANZO   AT   ST.    MARK'S.  83 

gallant  fleet,  and  sacrificed  the  lives  of  a  valiant 
host  for  nought.  And  here  was  his  victim  I  With 
a  great  fleet  the  base  Malapieri  could  do  nothing ; 
but  Soranzo,  out  of  his  own  valor,  had  won  a  new 
fleet  for  Vonice  I 

Thus  Soranzo  came  back  with  his  name  on  the 
lips  and  in  the  hearts  of  all.  It  was  a  triumphant 
entry.  As  he  landed  at  St.  Mark's,  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  his  boat  could  reach  the  shore.  On 
the  Piazza  it  was  with  greater  difficulty  that  he 
could  pass.  Parents  saw  in  him  the  savior  of  th^ir 
children  ;  the  hero  who  had  snatched  from  captivity 
so  many  gallant  souls  ;  all  saw  in  him  one  who  was 
the  savior  of  the  state.  He  was  overwhelmed  by 
the  throng.  The  air  was  rent  with  acclamations. 
The  gallant  band  that  followed  him  were  be^t  and 
eagerly  questioned  ;  and  many,  overcome  with 
emotion,  fell  upon  their  knees,  and  tried  to  kiss  the 
hand  of  Soranzo.  At  last  he  succeeded  in  working 
his  way  through  t,he  crowd,  and  reached  the  Ducal 
Palace.  Here,  at  the  head  of  the  Giant's  Stairs, 
stood  the  doge,  who  had  come  forth  to  see  with  his 
own  eyes  the  hero  of  this  amazing  and  unexpected 
exploit,  and  also  to  exhibit  the  sympathy  of  the 
government  with  this  outburst  of  patriotic  emo- 
tion. To  him  Soranzo  made  his  report,  and  handed 
over  to  him  the  jewelled  turban  and  the  cimeter 
of  Noureddin  —  the  Turkish  Capitan  Pasha  —  the 
terror  of  the  ^Egean  Sea. 

On  that  day  there  were  two  men  who  did  not 
share  the  general  joy. 


84  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Ono  was  Malapieri.  At  the  return  of  Soranzo 
in  such  a  way  his  black  and  cruel  heart  quailed 
with  terror.  No  ono  knew  so  well  as  he  the  extent 
of  his  own  perfidy.  Conscience  made  him  cow- 
ardly. What  if  Soranzo,  this  popular  hero,  should 
now  denounce  him !  His  own  ears  had  heard  words 
of  terror.  The  populace  who  cheered  for  Soranzo 
also  hurled  imprecations  at  the  name  of  Malapieri. 
Against  Soranzo  poor  and  friendless  it  would  have 
been  easy  to  struggle  ;  but  how  could  he  h^^o  to 
contend  with  Soranzo  the  hero  —  and  popui  r  idol  I 
He  looked  far  ahead.  He  judged  of  Soranzo  by 
himself,  and  saw  himself  the  victim  of  a  vengeful 
enemy.  It  seemed  as  if  all  was  lost.  His  only 
safety  lay  in  immediate  flight.  He  did  not  linger, 
but  the  very  day  that  saw  the  triumph  of  Soranzo 
saw  the  flight  of  Malapieri  into  an  exile  that  ter- 
minated only  with  death. 

The  other  uneasy  spirit  was  Polani.  He  had 
never  injured  Soranzo.  He  had  only  despised  him 
and  slighted  him.  He  had  also  sought  to  draw  Bi- 
anca  from  him.  He  now  feared  lest  Soranzo  might 
feel  vengeful,  and  could  only  hope  that  he  would 
spare  him  for  Bianca's  sake.  He  determined  to  see 
him  at  once  in  the  hour  of  his  triumph,  to  off'er  his 
congratulations,  and  to  try  whether  his  love  for  Bi- 
anca  had  changed.  As  for  Malapieri,  he  understood 
well  that  the  sun  of  that  noble  had  set  forever. 

Thus  the  old  Polani  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  Gi- 
ant's Stairs,  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  speak  to 


JOY   OF   BIANCA.  85 

Soranzo.  At  length  the  young  man  camo  forth, 
and  descended  the  steps.  He  saw  Polani  at  once, 
and  with  a  flush  of  eager  joy  hurried  towards  him. 

"  Bianca  !"  he  said. 

The  old  man  had  been  on  the  point  of  beginning 
a  solemn  congratulation,  but  he  was  shrewd  enough 
to  see  that  there  was  a  far  pleasanter  subject.  No 
—  he  had  not  forgotten  —  that  eager  look,  those 
tremulous  tones,  showed  that  the  stout  heart  which 
never  quailed  in  battle  was  all  quivering  with  anx- 
ious emotion  at  the  thought  of  Bianca. 

"  She's  well,"  said  Polani,  as  he  grasped  Soran- 
zo's  hand  in  both  of  his.  "  She  has  been  anxious 
about  you.  She  saw  your  ships,  and  heard  your 
name  shouted  out  by  the  whole  city.  She  has  been 
waiting  ever  since  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  you.'' 

All  this  was  mere  guess-work,  yet  it  was  per- 
fectly true.  Polani  had  conjectured  well,  and 
knew  exactly  what  effect  this  would  have  on  Bi- 
anca. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  offer  you  my  poor  hospi- 
tality ?  "  he  continued ;  "  we  should  like  to  hear  how 
you  escaped  —  and  Bianca." 

Soranzo  pressed  his  hand  fervently,  and  said  not 
a  word.  Polani  understood  him,  and  they  both 
turned  to  go. 

It  took  about  an  hour  to  get  through  the  crowd 
of  men  and  boats,  but  at  length  they  reached  the 
Palazzo  Polani. 

It  was  all  true.     Bianca  had  heard  all.     In  an 


86  THE   WINGED    LION. 

instant  she  had  started  up  from  her  couch,  where 
she  had  lain  down  to  die  of  a  broken  heart,  and 
had  come  back  to  vigorous  life,  and  bounding  hope, 
and  exultant  joy. 

"  Ho  will  be  hero  I "  she  said  to  her  mother. 
*'  He  will  be  here  1    He  is  coming  to  me  at  last  I  " 

And  she  was  right.  She  knew  her  father's  na- 
ture, and  she  knew  Soranr  ^'s  love.  As  for  Soranzo, 
the  triumph  of  that  day  had  all  been  as  nothing 
compared  with  the  deep,  unutterable  bliss  which 
he  felt  as  he  entered  the  Palazzo  Polani,  and  caught 
Bianca  in  his  arms. 


POOR  UNCLE   MOSES,  87 


Cn AFTER  YI. 

Poor  Old  Uncle  Moses.  —  Deep  Anxiety.  —  Pursuit  of  the 
Fugitives.  —  Bolog7ia.  —  Ferrara.  —  Padua.  —  The  Track 
lost.  —  Heroic  Resolve  of  Icicle  Moses.  —  O71  to  Venice. 

ET  US  now  return  to  Uncle  Moses  and  his 
doings.  After  taking  leave  of  Clive  and 
David,  the  unhappy  uncle  looked  as  though 
he  had  lost  all  that  he  most  loved  on  earth.  He 
returned  to  the  hotel.  Frank  and  Bob  were  away, 
intent  upon  their  own  amusements,  and  nothing 
was  left  for  Uncle  Moses  but  to  brood  over  the 
troubles  of  his  too  anxious  heart.  Bitterly  he  re- 
gretted that  he  had  given  his  consent  to  this  sepa- 
ration. How  could  he  know  what  might  befall 
them  ?  Away  among  strangers  in  a  foreign  land, 
without  an  uncle's  care,  it  seemed  to  him  that  they 
were  exposed  to  the  must  frightful  perils.  That 
tli^y  had  a  talent  for  getting  into  difficulties  he 
knew  but  too  well ;  and  though  thus  far  they  had 
always  got  out  of  them  again  without  harm,  yet 
he  had  no  assurance  that  this  would  always  be  so. 
Indeed,  his  fears  all  led  him  to  expect  the  oppo- 
site, and  to  think  that  while  David  and  Clive 
would  still  have  their  ill  luck  in  falling  into  dan- 


88  THE  WINGED    LION. 

ger,  tlioy  would  loso  thoir  qood  luck  in  getting 
out. 

"Wlicn  Frank  and  Bob  returned,  they  were 
Bliockcd  to  SCO  the  condition  into  wl.\ich  tlieir 
beloved  and  revered  relative  had  worked  him- 
self. He  seemed  utterly  prostrated,  and  was  so 
ill  alio  to  rouse  himself  that  ho  could  scarcely 
speak.  At  first  they  thought  that  he  was  ill,  but 
they  soon  found  that  it  was  the  mind  that  was  af- 
fected, and  not  the  body.  Now,  the  departure  of 
Clive  and  David  had  not  made  the  smallest  differ- 
ence to  Frank  and  Bob.  Thev  were  usually  ac- 
customed to  run  in  couples,  and  going  to  Bologna 
seemed  no  more  to  them  than  going  to  the  other 
side  of  the  Arno.  But  the  anxiety  and  the  deep 
distress  of  Uncle  Moses  was  too  serious  a  thing  to 
be  disregarded,  and  they  perceived  at  once  that 
they  must  sacrifice  all  their  own  tastes  and  plans 
to  his  comfort,      v  :  y  -  -  ..;      - 

It  was  not  long  before  Uncle  Moses  told  them 
his  whole  mind.  He  told  them  that  he  could  not 
endure  another  day  of  such  anxiety  as  this ;  that 
he  was  anxious  to  go  after  Clive  and  David  ;  to  be 
with  them,  and  have  them  all  under  his  own  eye  ; 
as  for  themselves,  they  could  enjoy  themselves 
quite  as  well  in  Bologna  as  in  Florence  ;  and  that 
they  must  get  ready  to  go  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. This  announcement,  which  was  made  with 
unusual  decision,  was  received  by  the  two  with- 
out a  \.  ard  of  objection. 


UNCLE  MOSES'  ANXIETY.  89 

"  Certainly,"  said  Frank.  "  It  don't  n  .tl  Ler  much 
to  us,  Uncle  Mo.  If  you  wish  it,  wo  shall  be  quite 
willing.  At  the  same  time  you  mustn't  allow  your- 
self to  fret  and  worry  so  much  about  nothing. 
Why,  if  tliis  goes  on,  you'll  not  be  able  to  travel, 
and  OLG  of  U3  will  have  to  go  and  bring  them 
back." 

"  Heaven  forbfd  !  "  said  Uncle  Moses.  "  Don't 
you  hint  at  sich  a  thing.  Only  you  let  me  get  to 
Bolony,  an'  you  ain't  going  to  catch  me  lettin'  any 
of  you  out  o'  my  sight  agin." 

The  prospect  of  going  on  to  Bologna  and  rejoin- 
ing the  lost  bo3'^s  was  so  grateful  to  Uncle  Moses, 
that  it  rapidly  restored  him  to  something  like  his 
usual  cheerfulness.  He  had  been  brooding  all  day 
long  over  his  troubles,  and  now  that  he  had  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it,  he  felt  unspeakably  relieved. 
As  for  Frank  and  Bob,  they  felt  quite  rejoiced  at 
the  change  in  him,  and  comforted  him  with  their 
assurances  that  they  would  meet  Clive  and  David 
without  fail. 

"  Unless,  indeed,"  said  Frank,  "  they  have  got 
so  disgusted  with  Bologna  as  to  come  back  here." 

"  That's  an  important  idee,"  said  Uncle  Moses. 
*'  They  might  feel  as  bad  as  I  did,  and  might  be 
comin'  back  just  as  we  were  goin'  on.  I  think  I'd 
best  write  a  short  note  of  explanation,  in  case  they 
should  come  back." 

This  gave  Uncle  Moses  something  to  do,  and  he 
proceeded  to  write  a  letter  explaining  his  depart- 


90  THE  WINGED   LION. 

uro,  which  he  left  with  the  concierge,  to  be  given 
to  Clive  and  David  in  the  event  of  their  return. 

Now,  there  had  been  no  very  definite  arrange- 
ment as  to  time.  The  boys  had  specified  two  or 
throe  days.  Afterwards,  as  we  know,  they  had 
acted  on  the  supposition  of  an  allowance  of  three 
days,  and  with  this  understanding  they  wrote 
their  letter  from  Padua.  As  for  Uncle  Moses,  he 
had  not  thought  of  any  very  definite  time,  and  to 
leave  on  the  next  day  did  not  seem  to  him  likely 
to  disarrange  any  plans  whatever.  Accordingly, 
on  the  very  day  after  the  momentous  separation, 
Uncle  Moses,  Frank,  and  Bob  started  from  Flor- 
ence, without  the  slightest  doubt  that  they  would 
find  David  and  Clive  at  Bologna.  Before  the  boys 
had  left,  they  had  chosen  from  Murray's  Hand- 
book a  certain  hotel  from  among  those  that  were 
specified  therein  ;  and  it  was  to  this  that  Uncle 
Moses  at  once  went.  Bologna  looked  as  gloomy 
to  these  as  it  did  to  the  others ;  and  the  drizzling 
rain,  and  the  cloudy  sky,  and  the  general  gloom 
still  continued.  As  they  drove  to  the  hotel,  Frank 
and  Bob  thought  of  sunny  Florence,  and  groaned. 
At  length  they  reached  their  destination,  and  hur- 
rying in,  they  looked  about  eagerly,  half  expecting 
to  find  the  objects  of  their  search.  They  were  dis- 
appointed, however,  ajir"  then  they  proceeded  to 
make  inquiries  about  them. 

The  reply  v^hich  they  received  was  one  that 
filled  the  questioners  with  amazement,  and  gave  a 
dreadful  shock  to  the  anxious  Uncle  Moses. 


THE  LANDLORD.  91 

"  0,  doy  af  gone,"  said  tlio  landlord,  who  was 
able  to  '  Bpik  lugolia ; '  "  dey  af  gone,  yo8teda." 

"  Gone  1 "  cried  Frank.     "  Where  ?  " 

He  half  expected  to  hear  that  they  had  gone 
back  to  Florence  in  disgust. 

"  To  Ferrara,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  Ferrara  1  ^'  cried  Frank ;  and  ho  gave  a  low 
whistle. 

"  0,  dey  will  come  back,''  Baid  the  landlord ; 
"  dey  say  so ;  doy  will  come  back." 

''  0,  they'll  come  back —  will  they  ?  "  said  Frank. 
"  When  ?    To-day  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,  to-day,  certamente,"  said  the  landlord  j 
"  dey  say  so."      ,.'  ^*    ■    ;      •, 

This,  at  least,  was  some  consolation. 

"  0,  it's  all  right,"  said  Frank,  in  a  careless  and 
confident  tone,  trying  to*  cheer  the  wretched  Uncle 
Moses.  "  You  see,  Undo  Mo,  they  couldn't  stand 
Bologna,  and  no  wonder.  It's  a  horrible  hole ;  so 
they've  gone  on  to  Ferrara ;  quite  right,  too  ;  but 
Ferrara's  only  a  few  miles  off,  and  I  dare  say  they'll 
be  back  this  evening.  Now,  don't  you  fret,  or  worry, 
or  bother  about  it  in  the  least.  They'll  be  back 
this  evening  all  right.  So  cheer  up,  and  don't 
bother." 

Uncle  Moses  tried  to  cheer  up,  but  with  little 
success.  Frank's  words,  however,  gave  him  some 
hope,  and  with  this  he  endeavored  to  sustain  him- 
self. But  the  task  was  hard,  and  the  time  between 
this  and  evening  seemed  long  indeed.     Upon  fur- 


92  THE  WINGED   LION. 

ther  inquiry  they  learned  that  the  evening  train 
from  Ferrara  would  arrive  at  seven  o'clock,  at 
wliicli  time  all  would  be  decided.  ..' 

"  We  must  wait  till  then,"  said  Uncle  Moses, 
sadly,  "  though  I'd  much  rayther  go  right  straight 
off  to  Ferrary ;  but  bein'  as  thar's'a  chance  of  their 
comin'  back,  why,  I  suppose  we'd  best  wait." 

"  But  don't  look  so  heart-broken.  Uncle  Moses," 
said  Frank.    "  Do,  for  pity's  sake,  try  to  cheer  up." 

''  0,  don't  mind  me,"  said  Uncle  Moses  ;  "  don't 
you  mind  me.  You  jest  go  off  an'  see  the  town, 
an'  I'll  stay  in  my  room  an'  lay  down,  an'  p'aps  I'll 
get  a  little  sleep."      ^  (    .  ..  - 

"  Yes,  do,"  said  Frank,  eagerly.  "  Try  to  sleep. 
I  don't  believe  you  slept  a  wink  all  last  night." 

They  were  now  shown  to  their  rooms,  and  the 
boys,  leaving  Uncle  Moses  here,  went  out  to  see 
the  city,  and  did  not  return  till  evening.  Their 
opinion  was  the  same  as  that  which  had  been 
formed  by  Clive  and  David.  -';^ 

"  It's  a  dull  place,"  said  Frank,  "  and  I  don't 
wonder  they  went  to  Ferrara,  only  I  hope,  for 
poor  Uncle  Mo's  sake,  that  they'll  be  back  to- 
night." 

The  train  came  in  at  the  appointed  time,  and 
Frank  and  Bob  were  at  the  station  to  receive  the 
returning  wanderers.  To  their  disappointment, 
however,  they  saw  nothing  of  them,  and  when 
they  returned.  Uncle  Moses  read  their  feelings 
on  their  faces.  He  said  not  a  word,  but  stood 
trembling  and  frightened. 


FERRARA,   PADUA.  93 

"  0,  come  now/'  said  Frank,  cheerfully,  "  don't 
be  so  agitated.  Uncle  Mo.  The  boys  are  all  right. 
It's  impossible  that  any  harm  can  have  come  to 
them.  They  thought  that  they  had  two  or  three 
days  to  themselves,  you  see,  and  Bologna's  so  dull 
that  they'll  not  come  back  here  till  tlie  last  mo- 
ment.    They'll  be  back  some  time  to-morrow." 

"  Some  time  to-morrow ! "  said  Uncle  Morop, 
"  Wal,  I  can't  set  do'»vn  here  and  wait.  I  must  go 
on,  too,  and  meet  them  at  Ferrary.  And  I'll  leave 
a  letter  for  them  here,  same  as  I  did  at  Florence." 

Uncle  Moses  was  very  much  agitated,  and  did 
not  say  a  great  deal,  but  it  Avas  evident  that  he 
was  busy  with  anxious  thoughts.  He  wrote  an- 
otlier  letter  here,  which  he  deposited  with  the 
landlord,  to  be  given  to  the  boys  in  the  event 
of  their  return,  and  then  seemed  to  feel  a  little 
calmer.  :  ;v 

Early  on  the  following  morning  they  left  for 
Ferrara.  On  arriving  at  this  place,  they  went  first 
to  the  chief  hotel,  supposing  that  the  boys  would 
be  more  likely  to  have  lodged  here  than  anywhere 
else.  Here  they  found  their  suppositions  correct, 
for  the  familiar  names  were  there  on  the  book  of 
visitors.  But  they  were  destined,  nevertheless,  to 
fresh  disappointment.  Tliey  wore  informed  that 
the  boys  had  remained  but  a  few  hours,  and  had 
gone  on  to  Padua.  They  had  loft  no  word  as  to 
their  return,  or  as  to  any  further  movements. 

This   information   was   a   freSh   blow   to   Uncle 


94  THE   WINGED   LION. 

Moses,  and  even  Frank  and  Bob  thought  the  sit- 
uation serious.  It  was  not  at  all  like  Clive  and 
David.  They  were  generally  quiet,  and  not  over- 
fond  of  adventures.  "Why  they  should  now  be  trans- 
formed into  lawless  vagabonds  was  a  mystery. 

Frank  saw,  <iowever,  that  Uncle  Moses  required 
all  his  care,  for  it  seemed  as  though  the  aged  man 
would  sink  under  this  new  disappointment.  ;,, 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  he,  cheerfully.  "  They  Ve 
gone  all  about  Ferrara,  and  have  concluded  to  visit 
Padua  also  before  returning  to  Bologna.  They 
could  not  have  spent  more  than  two  hours  here. 
I  dare  sny  they  are  now  in  Padua.  But  of  course 
they'll  be  back  in  Bologna  in  time  to  meet  us." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ? "  wailed  Uncle  Moses. 
"  How  can  I  ever  see  them  again  ? " 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  our 
best  plan  will  be  to  go  back  to  Bolcgna,  and  wait 
there  for  them  to  return." 

Uncle  Moses  groaned.  '  . 

"  I  feel,"  said  he,  "  jest  as  if  them  two  had  got  a 
start,  and  were  agoin'  off  never  to  return.  I  feel 
as  if  my  only  chance  is  to  folly  them  as  fast  as  I 
can,  and  catch  up  to  them  if  possible.  And  so  I 
don't  seem  to  care  about  goin'  back.  My  only  idee 
is,  to  go  for'ard  and  catch  them  before  they're  lost." 

"  When  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Wh}",  as  soon  as  possible.  You  find  out  when 
the  next  train  is  goin'  to  start  for  Padua." 

"  The  next  traih  ?  Why,  that  leaves  at  two 
o'clock.     I  saw  the  time-table  in  the  office." 


PERPLEXITY  OF  UNCLE  MOSES.        95 

"  Two  o'clock :  very  well,"  said  Uncle  Moses ; 
"  then  we'll  go  on  to  Padua  by  that  train." 

"  But  suppose  the  boys  go  back  to  Bologna, 
when  we're  going  to  Padua." 

"  Wal,  we  can  try  Padua  first,"  said  Uncle 
Moses,  "  an'  then,  if  we  find  they've  gone  back, 
we  can  go  back,  too.  They'l)  get  my  letter  at 
Bolony.  I  told  them  to  wait  at  I>olony  at  all  haz- 
ards, an'  not  to  stir  a  step  till  we  come  back.  An' 
so  they'll  stay  there.  At  the  same  time,  if  we  find 
them  at  Padua,  it'll  be  so  much  the  better." 

This  decision  was  not  at  all  disagreeable  to  Frank 
and  Bob.  They  had  several  hours  to  wait  in  Fer- 
rara,  and  these  they  spent  in  going  about  the  town. 
They  were  not  fond  of  ruins,  or  of  churches,  or  of 
museums ;  they  were  not  poetical  or  romantic,  like 
David  and  Clive ;  nor  did  they  care  for  old  associa- 
tions, or  historic  names.  The  result  was,  that  Fer- 
rara  seemed  duller  to  them  than  it  had  been  to 
David  and  Clive,  and  they  both  voted  it  a  slow 
place.  '■  • 

"  It's  quite  evident  why  they  went  on  to  Padua," 
said  Frank. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bob  ;  "  they  did  quite  right ;  but  I 
say,  Frank,  isn't  it  odd  to  think  of  solemn  old 
David  and  quiet  Clive  running  such  a  rig  as  this  ? 
If  we  had  done  it,  why,  it  would  have  seemed 
natural." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  «  I  don't  think  I  should  have 
done  it.     At  any  rate,  I  should  have  telegraphed 


96  THE   WINGED   LION. 

to  Undo  Moses  at  Florence,  or,  at  least,  I  should 
have  written.  It's  very  careless  in  them.  Of 
course  tliey'ro  all  right,  and  they'll  turn  up  some- 
where ;  but  meanwhile  poor  old  Uncle  Mo's  fretting 
himself  into  a  fever.     Bother  take  them,  I  say." 

At  two  o'clock  they  left  Ferrara,  and  in  a  short 
time  arrived  at  Padua.  Here,  as  before,  they  went 
to  the  chief  hotel  in  the  city,  and  once  more  re- 
gained the  track  of  the  wanderers.  But  here,  as 
before,  they  found  that  the  wanderers  had  gone, 
and  that  this  time  they  had  proceeded  to  Venice. 

At  this  information  poor  old  Uncle  Moses  seemed 
utterly  crushed,  and  even  Frank  and  Bob  felt  some- 
thing like  consternation.  Thus  far  they  had  felt 
as  though  their  uncle's  anxiety  was  quite  unneces- 
sary, since  at  all  events  the  boys  would  certainly 
come  back  to  Bologna ;  but  this  last  act  put  the 
whole  matter  upon  quite  a  different  footing.  At 
Bologna  they  had  known  where  to  go  ;  at  Ferrara 
and  Padua  their  course  had  been  easy,  namely,  to 
go  to  the  principal  hotel ;  but  what  could  they  do 
now  ?  Venice  had  many  hotels,  from  among  which 
it  was  difficult  to  choose  any  one  that  seemed  likely 
to  be  the  abode  of  the  fugitives.  In  addition  to 
this,  it  was  incomprehensible  how  David  and  Clive 
could  ever  have  thought  of  going  off  in  this  fash- 
ion. There  was  no  letter  for  them.  The  landlord 
knew  nothing  about  their  intended  movements. 
The  boys  had  plunged  into  utter  obscurit3^  Uncle 
Moses  was  heart-broken,  and  Frank  did  not  know 


PURSUIT   OF   THE   FUGITIVES.  97 

how  to  consolo  him.  They  had  shown  an  utter 
recklessness,  and  at  the  same  time  a  heartlcssness 
whicli  filled  Frank  with  amazement,  and  added  to 
the  difficulty  of  the  case. 

Still  it  was  necessary  to  decide  upon  some  course 
of  action.  Uncle  Moses  seemed  quite  distracted 
with  anxiety  and  terror,  so  that  Frank  had  now  to 
make  all  the  plans  for  the  future. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  that  our  only  course  is  to  go 
on  to  Venice."  •  '  - 

"  What  can  we  do  in  Venice  ?  "  said  Uncle  Moses, 
in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  Do  ? "  said  Frank.  "  Why,  we  can  hunt  up 
Dave  and  Clive." 

"  It's  like  hunting  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack," 
said  Bob.        - 

Uncle  Moses  groaned. 

"  0,  there  needn't  be  any  difficulty.  We  can  get 
the  police  to  hunt  them  up."  .       '^  -"^ 

"  The  police  ! "  said  Uncle  Moses,  in  a  voice  of 
horror.     "  The  police  ! " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Frank.  "  Why  not?  I've  heard 
that  the  police  at  Venice  are  a  very  efficient  body 
of  men." 

"  So  have  T,"  groaned  Uncle  Moses.  "  That's 
jest  what  I've  heerd  all  my  life.  The  police  at 
Venice.  Why,  Venice  is  a  vast  police  station. 
It's  filled  with  spies,  an'  bravos,  an'  assassins. 
Why,  I  mind  readin'  about  it  when  I  was  a  boy 
at  school.  The  first  novel  I  ever  read  was  Abel- 
7 


98  THE  WINGED   LION. 

lino,  the  Bravo  of  Venice.  And  I've  heord  about 
the  dungeons  thar,  an'  the  terrible  courts,  an'  tho 
torments  tliey  make  use  of.  0,  I  know  all  about 
it.  Why,  tho  Inquisition  at  Venice  is  tho  most 
horrible  thing  on  airth.  Tho  idee  of  it  used  to 
keep  me  awake  at  night.  It's  like  Fox's  Book  of 
Martyrs,  or  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 
To  go  thar  is  like  goin'  straight  into  the  jaws  of 
Death." 

*'  0,  nonsense  !  "  said  Frank.  "  That  is  all  old 
stuff.  It  might  have  been  so  in  the  middle  ages, 
but  Venice  now  is  a  quiet,  easy-going  city,  as  safe 
as  Boston  —  part  of  the  kingdom  of  Italy.  At  any 
rate,  we've  got  to  go." 

"  Well,"  said  Uncle  Moses,  heroically,  "  we've 
got  to  go,  an'  for  my  part,  I'd  go  after  them  boys,. 
to  save  them,  if  it  was  into  the  dungeons  of  the 
Inquisition  themselves.  Yes,"  he  added,  "  if  I  had 
to  lie  on  the  rack,  or  be  tried  by  the  Council  of 
Ten,  or  be  broken  on  the  wheel,  or  burnt  at  the 

stake."  ■  ^:{--^M■'-^,•■^, 

And  so,  while  Clive  and  David  w^ere  enjoying 
themselves  hugely  with  their  new  friends  at 
Venice,  poor  old  Uncle  Moses  was  overwhelmed 
with  anxiet}^  and  terror  at  Padua. 


THE   PARTY  IN  VENICE.  99 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Pleasant  Party  in  Venice.  —  Hoiu  to  find  a  Missing 
Relative.  —  The  Story  of  the  beheaded  Doge, 

ET  us  now  retiim  to  the  pleasant  party  in 
WM   Venice.  '    '   ' 

'  On  the  next  morning  Vernon  called  on  the 
Bureau  of  Police  to  see  Avhat  had  been  done  about 
Miss  Lee.  He  learned  that  nothing  had  been  done 
thus  far,  but  that  a  messenger  was  about  to  start 
for  Verona  in  an  hour.  This  news  he  brought  back 
to  Gracie,  who  was  very  anxious  to  know  whether 
anything  had  been  heard. 

She  looked  disappointed. 

"  I  hoped/'  she  said,  with  ^  little  sigh,  "  that  they 
might  have  telegraphed.  Poor  auntie  will  be  in 
despair.  And  did  they  tr}^  to  find  whether  she  was 
in  Venice  or  not  ?  " 

"  0,  3'es.  She  is  not  here.  She  is,  no  doubt,  in 
Verona,  and  will  wait  there  till  she  hears  about 
you.  1  dare  say  she  will  get  the  police  to  hunt 
you  up  and  take  you  prisoner." 

"  And  do  you  think',  Mr.  Vernon,''  asked  Gracie, 
"  that  there  is  any  chance  of  my  hearing  anything 
of  her  to-day  ?  " 


100  THE  WINGED  LION. 

Vernon  Rliook  bis  head. 

''  I'm  afraid  not,"  said  he.  "  Tlie  iricssonger  will 
go  to-day.  lie  will  hardly  bo  able  to  find  her  in 
time  to  come  back  by  the  evening  train.  Still,  it 
is  possible,  no  doubt.  But  the  best  way  is  to  allow 
ample  time,  and  not  to  be  impatient.  Now,  I  do 
not  see  how  the  messenger  can  get  back  before  to- 
morrow. And,  besides,  your  aunt  may  refuse  to 
come  with  him."  , 

'' Refuse  !     How  could  she  ?  " 

"  0,  I  was  merely  thinking  that  she  might  be 
terrified  at  the  idea  of  going  with  ?  policeman,  es- 
pecially to  Venice.  Venice  has  a  bad  name  in 
those  matters." 

"  Auntie's  awfully  timid,"  said  Gracie.  "  At  any 
rate  she'll  write,  and  I'll  fly  back  to  her." 

"  If  I  could  only  persuade  your  aunt  to  stay  in 
Verona  a  little  longer,"  said  Vernon,  "  I  would 
make  a  pilgrimage  there,  and  get  her  consent  —  ". 

Gracie  looked  at  hinj  inquiringly ;  then  her  eyea 
Ml  --  '    •...  .^.-■•,:,.,.  ....... 

"  Why  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  little  whisper. 

"  Why  ?  Because  we  cannot  bear  to  have  our 
little  circle  broken  up  so  soon,  before  we  have  be- 
gun to  see  Venice,  too ;  and  if  you  were  to  leave 
us  now,  why,  you  see,  all  our  plans  would  be  spoiled, 
and  if  I  could  only  know  that  your  aunt  was  safe, 
and  if  you,  too,  felt  at  ease  about  her,  I  should 
rather  like  the  police  to  terrify  her." 

*'  I'm  sure  that's  very  unkind,"  said  Gracie. 


THE  MISSTNO   RELATIVE.  101 

*'  I  know  it  is,"  said  Vernon,  in  a  tone  of  pro- 
found compunction ;  "  but  it  arises  from  my  own 
wicked  heart." 

Gracie  smiled  at  this,  with  a  pretty  air  of  con- 
fusion. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  she,  "I  shall  hear  from 
auntie  to-morrow." 

"0,  yes,  or  the  day  after;  and  Clive  here  and 
Davie  will  hear,  too,  no  doubt.  By  the  by,  boys, 
what  address  did  you  give  your  uncle  ?  " 

^'Poste  llestante,"  said  David. 

"  0,  so  you  did  not  mention  the  Hotel  Zeno." 

"  No,"  said  David,  "  I  did  not  feel  certain  about 
staying  here,  and  thought  *  Poste  Hestante '  would 
be  the  safest  and  most  convenient  address." 

"  But  suppose  he  comes  on  himself,  how  will  he 
find  you  ?  " 

"  0,  he  won't  come  on,"  said  Clive ;  "  he'll  write 
first,  of  course.  Besides,  Frank  and  Bob  will  be 
delighted  to  hear  what  we  have  done,  and  will 
tease  Uncle  Moses  to  spend  another  week  in  Flor- 
ence.    You  know  they're  crazy  about  Florence." 

"  0,  well,"  said  Vernon,  "  that's  all  the  better.  I 
only  wish  Miss  Lee  could  feel  as  comfortable  about 
her  aunt.  However,  we  have  this  da}^  before  us, 
and  I've  been  making  a  plan  of  action.  How  wotild 
you  like  to  see  the  city  ?  and  what  do  you  say  to 
visiting  the  Doge's  Palace  ?  "  •'^ 

"  I  have  no  choice,"  said  Gracie.  "  I  don't  know 
anything  about  Venice,  and  shall  be  happy  to  go 
wherever  you  take  me." 


102  THE  WINGED   LION. 

In  a  short  timo  tlioy  set  forth  in  a  gondola,  and 
went  to  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark.    Here  they  landed. 

The  Doge's  Palace  is  a  large  edifice  which  ex- 
tends from  the  Grand  Canal  to  the  Cathedral  of  St. 
Mark,  overlooking  the  Piazza  and  the  landing-place, 
or  Piazzetta.  The  front  is  adorned  with  rows  of  col- 
umns and  arches,  which  give  it  a  Byzantine  appear- 
ance. The  entrance  looks  out  upon  the  Piazza  of 
St.  Mark,  and  is  approached  by  a  noble  stairway, 
known  as  the  "Giant's  Stairs."  At  the  head  of 
these  are  certain  orifices  representing  the  mouths 
of  lions.  These  are  the  terrible  "  lions'  mouths  '* 
into  which  secret  accusations  were  once  dropped. 
The  "lions'  mouths"  and  the  "giant's  stairs"  figure 
largely  in  the  legends  and  the  history  of  Venice. 

Here  Vernon  led  his  companions,  and  pointed 
out  to  them  these  things  just  mentioned.  After 
this  they  entered  the  Palace,  traversed  the  grand 
hall,  and  came  to  the  Council  Chamber.  Here  they 
saw  magnificent  paintings,  and  conspicuous  among 
them  the  largest  oil  painting  in  the  world  —  the 
work  of  Tintoretto.  Then  they  visited  many  other 
apartments,  including  the  Senate  Chamber,  and  the 
Rooms  of  Audience.  All  these  were  magnificently 
furnished  and  adorned  with  paintings. 

In  one  of  these  rooms  they  sat  down.  An  open 
window  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  Piazza,  with 
the  lofty  tower  of  St.  Mark. 

"Do  you  see  the  Giant's  Stairs  below,"  asked 
Vernon. 


MARINO   FALIERO.  103 

"Yoa,"  saiil  Gracie. 

"I  iiilend  to  bo  your  guide,  pliilosophcr,  and 
frioud,"  said  Vornou,  "  and  so  I  must  toll  you  all 
about  the  places  of  import.,  ^ce  that  wo  meet.  Did 
you  over  hear  of  Marino  Faliero?" 

"  0,  yes,"  said  G  racie.    "  I've  read  Byron's  play." 

"  It's  all  the  saiiio,"  said  Vernon.  "  I'll  tell  you 
the  story.  I've  brought  it,  all  written  out,  and  if 
you  care  to  hear  it  I  will  read  it.  Shall  I Y  or  will 
it  bo  *.oo  much  of  a  bore  ?  " 

"  0,  read  it,  by  all  means." 

Upon  this  Vernon  drew  forth  some  papers,  and 
began  to  read 

The  Storv  op  Martno  Faliero. 

The  formation  of  the  Council  of  Ten  had  the 
effect  of  diminishing  the  power  of  the  other  parts 
of  the  government.  In  particular  the  office  of 
chief  magistrate  had  been  affected  by  it,  and  the 
Doge  of  Venice  at  length  became  little  more  than 
a  mere  name. 

It  was  about  forty  years  after  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Council  of  Ten  that  Marino  Faliero 
was  elected  doge.  He  was  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished citizens  of  Venice,  sprung  from  one  of  the 
noblest  families,  and  with  a  name  rendered  illus- 
trious by  glorious  achievements  in  war,  and  skilful 
administration  of  civil  affairs. 

The  ducal  dignity,  which  had  appeared  so  bril- 
liant an  object  of  ambition,  was  no  sooner  attained, 


104  THE  WINGED  LION. 

than  Marino  Faliero  found  it  nothing  better  than  a 
splendid  mockery.  In  most  of  the  affairs  of  state 
he  was  allowed  to  do  nothing  whatever.  He  was 
subjected  to  the  most  galling  control,  not  only  in 
pubHc  matters,  but  even  in  those  things  which 
pertained  to  his  private  affairs.  To  add  to  all, 
spies  were  set  around  him,  and  he  found  that  the 
position  of  first  citizen  of  Venice  was  only  that  of  a 
state  prisoner.  "^ : 

Accustomed  all  his  life  to  command ;  possessed  of 
great  self-reliance  and  resolution;  animated,  also, 
by  honorable  pride  and  ambition,  Marino  Faliero  no 
sooner  found  oiit  the  truth  of  this  position  than  he 
sought  for  some  remedy.  Circumstances  hastened 
his  search.  Not  only  was  he  harassed  by  the  es- 
pionage and  restraint  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  but  he 
also  found  that  he  was  actually  exposed  to  insult. 
On  one  occasion  this  insult  was  more  bitter  than 
usual,  since  it  was  aimed  not  at  liimself,  but  at  his 
wife.  The  offence  could  not  be  overlooked.  Una- 
ble to  punish  the  offender  himself,  he  denounced 
him  to  the  Council.  The  result  was,  that  the  Coun- 
cil punished  the  accused  by  a  sentence  of  impris- 
onment for  two  months,  to  be  followed  by  banish- 
ment for  one  year.  To  the  doge  this  punishment 
appeared  so  inadequate  to  the  offence  that  he  re- 
garded it  almost  as  an  indorsement  by  the  Council 
of  the  insult.  His  haughty  spirit  could  not  endure 
it  any  longer,  and  he  now  looked  about  for  means 
to  avenge  himself. 


MARINO   FALIERO.  105 

The  opportunity  soon  presented  itself.  On  the 
day  after  the  sentence  a  high  noble  came  to  him  to 
seek  reparation  for  a  blow  which  he  had  received 
from  another  noble.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you,"  said 
Faliero  ;  "  think  of  the  shameful  insult  tl  \t  has  been 
offered  me,  and  the  way  in  which  they  lAave  pun- 
ished that  ribald  who  wrote  it ;  and  see  how  the 
Council  respect  my  person."  Upon  this,  the  other 
said,  eagerly,  "  My  Lord  Doge,  if  you  wish  to  make 
yourself  a  real  prince,  and  destroy  all  these  your 
enemies,  I  have  the  courage,  if  you  will  help  me,  to 
make  you  chief  of  the  whole  state,  and  then  you 
can  punish  all  of  them." 

Faliero  at  once  fell  in  with  the  proposal,  and 
soon  a  conspiracy  was  organized.  His  nephew, 
Bertucci,  and  Calendaro,  a  distinguished  naval 
commander,  who  had  formerly  served  under  Fa- 
liero, were  sent  for  to  take  part  in  the  plot.  Six 
others  were  taken  into  the  affair,  and  for  many 
nights  in  succession  the  scheme  was  discussed  in 
the  Ducal  Palace,  until  at  length  the  whole  was 
decided.  It  was  arranged  that  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen leaders  should  be  posted  in  various  parts  of 
the  city,  each  at  the  head  of  forty  armed  men,  who, 
however,  were  not  to  know  their  destination.  On 
the  appointed  day  they  were  to  raise  riots  among 
themselves  in  order  that  the  doge  might  have  a 
pretence  for  tolling  the  bell  of  St.  Mark.  At  the 
sound  of  the  bell  the  whole  band  was  to  gather  at 
St.  Mark's,  and  when  the  citizens  should  come  to 


106  THE  WINGED   LION. 

know  the  cause  of  the  alarm,  the  conspirators  were 
to  fall  upon  them  and  cut  them  to  pieces.  After 
this  Faliero  was  to  be  proclaimed  Lord  of  Venice. 
The  day  appointed  for  the  rising  was  the  15th  of 
April,  1355 ;  and  so  profound  was  the  secrecy 
which  was  maintained  that  no  one  dreamed  of  the 
existence  of  the  conspiracy. 

But  on  the  evening  before  the  appointed  day, 
one  of  the  conspirators,  being  anxious  to  save  a 
dear  friend  from  danger,  went  to  see  him  and  ear- 
nesth"  entreated  him  to  remain  at  home  on  the  mor- 
row.  The  friend,  astonished  at  the  singular  request, 
began  to  make  inquiries  of  his  visitor,  and  though 
the  latter  at  first  tried  to  maintain  secrecy,  yet  at 
length  he  told  all.  The  friend  was  filled  with  hor- 
ror ;  he  at  once  arrested  his  informant,  and  then, 
having  secured  him,  he  hurried  forth  to  inform 
the  magistrates.  These  immediately  procured  the 
arrest  of  all  the  members  of  the  conspiracy,  who 
were  captured  at  their  own  houses.  Guards  were 
then  placed  at  the  arsenal,  and  distributed  through 
the  city.  For  these  the  punishment  was  plain  and 
easy,  but  with  the  doge  it  would  be  more  difficult 
to  deal. 

The  Council  of  Ten,  therefore,  demanded  the 
assistance  of  twenty  nobles,  who  were  to  advise,  but 
not  to  vote.  They  then  sent  for  the  doge,  who  had 
heard  nothing  whatever  of  the  disclosure  of  the 
conspiracy,  and  was  arrested  in  the  midst  of  his 
palace,  while  friends,  and  guests,  and  visitors  were 
all  around  him. 


MARINO   FALIERO.  107 

The  fact  .f  his  arrest  was  enongh.  That  one 
thing  told  him  all  that  had  occurred.  On  being 
brought  before  the  dread  tribunal,  he  said  not  a 
word,  neither  denying  the  charge  nor  seeking  to 
excuse  himself.  He  was  accordingly  found  guilty, 
and  condemned  to  be  beheaded,  the  place  of  execu- 
tion to  be  the  landing-place  of  the  Giant's  Stairs, 
where  the  doges  take  their  oath  when  they  first 
enter  the  palace.  .      , 

When  the  execution  was  over,  one  of  the  Coun- 
cil of  Ten  went  to  the  columns  of  the  palace  oppo- 
site the  Piazza,  and  holding  up  the  bloody  sword, 
cried  out,  "  Justice  has  fallen  on  the  traitor  ! "  and 
the  gates  being  then  opened,  the  people  rushed  in 
to  see  the  doge  who  had  been  executed. 

"  0,  thank  you  very  much,"  said  Gracie,  as  Ver- 
non paused.  "It  brings  back  all  Byron's  play, 
though  your  story  presents  the  doge  in  a  different 
light.  But  then  poets  have  to  depart  a  little  from 
the  actual  facts  of  the  case.'^ 

"  Certainly,"  said  Vernon.  "  A  poet  is  like  an 
artist,  and  has  often  to  sacrifice  truth  to  artistic 
effect.     But  of  course  the  moral  is  the  same." 

"  0,  yes,  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said  Gracie.  "  I  take 
your  word  for  it,  especially  since  you  put  it  in  that 
way.  I  did  not  think  of  that  before.  There  always 
seemed  to  me  something  wrong  in  a  poet's  depart- 
ure from  the  truth ;  but  now  that  you  call  him  an 
artist,  and  speak  about  the  artistic  effect,  it  seems 


108  THE  WINGED   LION. 

very  different  indeed.  And,  in  fact,  tlie  poet  must 
do  so,  for  it  is  his  art  that  makes  the  difference  be- 
tween poetry  and  prose." 

"  Are  you  an  artist  ?  "  asked  Vernon. 

"  0,  no,"  said  Gracie  ;  "  I  should  not  venture  to 
call  myself  an  artist.  I  can  draw  a  little,  and  paint 
a  little,  and  —  " 

''  I  wish  I  could  see  some  of  your  work,"  said 
Vernon,  eagerly.  "  I  should  love  to  see  some  of 
your  work.  1  dare  say  I  could  give  you  some 
Lints  —  "    ; 

"  O,  I  would  give  anything  to  have  you  give  me 
some  hints,"  responded  Gracie,  with  equal  eager- 
ness. "  There  are  a  thousand  things  that  I  want  to 
know  about,  and  —  but  what's  the  use  ?  "  she  added, 
in  a  mournful  voice,  "  when  there's  poor,  dear 
auntie,  and  —  but  if  she  were  only  here,  and 
safe  I " 

'*  I  declare,'^  said  Vernon,  "  I've  a  great  mind  to 
start  off  this  afternoon  by  the  train  and  hunt  her 
up  myself.     But  then  — "     He  stopped  abruptly. 

"  O,  I  should  think  the  police  would  be  better 
able  to  find  her  than  you  could  be,"  said  Gracie. 

"  I  would  go  at  once,"  said  Vernon,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  but  then  there  is  a  reason  —  "      * 

"What?"  asked  Gracie,  innocently. 

"  Why,  I  don't  want  to  break  up  our  littl  circle, 
and,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  I  don't  want  to 
go  away  from  youJ^ 


DUNuEONS  OP  THE  INQUISITION.  109 


■"■^-  ^vl^:-- 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

T/ie  Dungeons  of  the  Inquisition.  —  The  Bridge  of  Sighs.  — 
The  Story  of  a  Life-long  Vengeaiue, 

URING  this  conversation  David  and  Clive 
had  wandered  off  up  and  down  tlie  long 
corridor.  After  a  time  Vernon  and  Gracie 
came  towards  them,  and  said  that  they  were  going 
to  visit  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition. 

"  This  Inquisition,"  said  Vernon,  "  isn't  the  Holy 
Office  of  the  Inquisition,  of  which  you  have  heard 
so  much ;  it  had  no  connection  with  the  Roman 
Catholic  church,  or  with  religion.  It  was  the  In- 
quisition of  the  Venetian  state,  and  by  Inquisition 
is  meant  simply  the  criminal  court.  The  name  has 
misled  many  ;  but  though  the  Venetian  Inquisition 
was  a  civil  court,  yet  the  horrors  perpetrated  by  it 
Avere  fully  equal  to  any  that  were  ever  done  by  its 
terrible  sister,  the  Holy  Office  —  the  Inquisition  of 
Spain." 

"  Or  of  Rome,"  said  Clive. 

"  0,  no,"  said  Vernon  ;  "  the  Inquisition  at  Rome 
was  but  a  feeble  concern  compared  with  this  one. 
But  come,  let  us  see  what  there  is  left  of  it.  One 
look,  I  think,  will  be  enough  to  put  an  end  to  all 
romantic  regrets  for  the  late  of  Venice." 


110  THE  WINCED   LION. 

They  now  went  on,  and  came  to  a  large  apart- 
ment, quite  as  large  as  the  Council  Chamber,  and 
furnished  quite  as  magnificently.  This  was  the  Hall 
of  the  Inquisition.  Leaving  this,  they  descended 
a  narrow  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  came  to  a  pas- 
sage-way which  was  lighted  by  a  small  window. 

Here  Vernon  stopped. 

"  Can  you  guess  where  we  are  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No." 

"  This  is  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  he  said. 

"  The  Bridge  of  Sighs  !  "  repeated  the  others,  m 
wonder. 

"  Yes  ;  look  ouc  of  that  window,  and  you  can  see 
the  canal  beneath." 

A  stool  was  there,  by  standing  on  which  they 
could  see  that  it  was  so. 

After  this  they  went  on,  and  came  into  the  terri- 
ble prison-house.  Upon  the  story  which  was  on  a 
level  w^ith  the  bridge,  they  saw  narrow  cells, 
lighted  only  by  a  small  hole  in  each  door.  These 
were  dismal  enough,  but  were  the  best  of  all. 
Taking  lights,  they  went  down  a  narrow  stone 
stairway,  and  found  themselves  on  a  lower  story, 
where  the  dungeons  were  smaller,  and  darker,  and 
more  repellent.  But  these  were  not  the  worst,  for 
beneath  these  they  found  others  in  the  lowest  story 
of  all.  These  lay  beneath  the  level  of  the  sea,  and 
there  was  something  in  them  so  appalling  that  they 
retreated  after  a  very  short  examination.  There 
was  a  sense  of  horror  over  the  visitors,  and  none 


THE  TWO   FOSCARI.  Ill 

of  them  felt  able  to  breathe  freely  until  they  had 
come  back  to  their  old  station  at  the  balcony. 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Vernon,  "  I  will  read  you 
another  story,  which  is  associated  with  these  horri- 
ble prisons." 

"  0,  do,"  said  Gracie.  ^  ; 

Vernon  again  read. 

The  Story  of  the  Two  Foscari. 

The  reign  of  the  Doge  Francesco  Foscari  ex- 
tended over  thirty-five  years,  which  had  been 
marked  by  constant  wars,  during  which  he  had 
shown  unusual  ability  in  the  management  of  af- 
fairs. His  courage,  firmness,  and  wisdom  had  made 
him  illustrious ;  and  under  his  rule  Venice  had  in- 
creased in  power,  in  territory,  and  in  glory.  Yet 
all  these  things  could  not  save  him  from  the  dread 
power  of  the  Ten  ;  and  in  his  history  may  be  found 
the  most  awful  example  of  that  dark  and  baleful 
tyranny  under  which  Venice  had  sunk — a  tyranny 
which  pressed  heavily  on  all  classes  ;  which  sacri- 
ficed innocent  men  to  the  spite  of  anonymous  in- 
formers, and  inflicted  the  pangs  of  unspeakable 
torment  on  the  noblest  in  the  state,  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  personal  malignity. 

Twice  in  the  course  of  his  reign,  Foscari  had 
handed  in  his  resignation.  It  had  been  refused, 
and  on  the  second  resignation  an  oath  was  exacted 
from  him  that  he  would  retain  his  unwelcome  dig- 
nity for  life. 


51 


112  THE  WINGED   LION, 

Three  out  of  four  sons  wore  dead  ;  and  tlio  one 
who  survived,  Giacopo,  was  a  youth  of  noblo  qual- 
ities, before  whom  was  the  prospect  of  a  splendid 
career.  Ho  had  been  married  to  a  lady  of  the 
illustrious  house  of  Contarini,  and  the  aged  doge 
looked  to  this  last  surviving  son  for  the  support  of 
Lis  declining  years.  ^ 

Suddenly  the  blow  fell ;  which,  awful  as  it  was, 
proved  to  be  but  the  first  in  a  series  of  calamities, 
the  very  mention  of  which  is  terrible  to  every 
generous  heart.  Giacopo  was  denounced  to  the 
Council  of  Ten  for  having  received  presents  from 
a  foreign  potentatv^.  The  offence,  if  true,  was  but 
a  trifling  one,  and  was  probably  not  true  at  all ;  but 
before  the  Council  of  Ten  accusation  was  enough. 
It  was  their  fashion  not  to  confront  the  accused 
with  the  accuser,  but  to  examine  him  by  torture  ; 
and  in  this  instance  the  unhappy  youth  was  put  on 
the  rack,  and  submitted  to  the  question.  The 
agonized  father  had  to  be  present  at  tliis  scene. 
This  was  part  of  the  hellish  device  of  the  miscreant 
who  had  accused  Giacopo.  He  cared  not  whether 
the  accused  was  condemned  or  acquitted.  He 
counted  at  least  on  having  him  subjected  to  the 
torture,  and  on  inflicting  worse  torture  on  the 
wretched  father.  And  so,  on  the  rack,  the  young 
man  confessed  to  the  crime  ;  and  the  father  had  to 
announce  to  him  the  sentence  by  which  he  was 
banished  for  life.  Afterwards,  at  the  special 
prayer  of  the  doge,  his  wife  was  allowed  to  ac- 
company him. 


•rnE  TWO  lOscARi.  113 

Several  years  passed,  and  Giacopo  remained 
in  banishment ;  wlien  an  event  occurred  which 
brouglit  down  a  fresh  calamity  upon  the  wretched 
son  and  father.  One  of  the  Council  of  Ten  was 
assassinated.  On  that  day  the  servant  of  Giacopo 
had  been  seen  in  Venice.  The  Council,  conscious 
of  the  horrible  wrong  which  they  had  done,  and 
suspecting  vengeance  from  Foscnri,  at  once  re- 
called Giacopo  from  banishment  to  answer  this 
new  charge  of  treason  and  assassination. 

Once  more  the  hapless  son  was  laid  upon  the 
rack,  and  once  more  the  wretched  fatlier  had  to 
preside,  and  see  the  agony  of  one  dearer  than  life, 
—  his  only  son,  —  innocent  of  the  charge,  tortured 
by  fiends  from  whom  he  could  not  save  him.  For 
the  doge  was  but  a  name,  and  the  Council  of  Ten 
held  all  power  in  their  hands.  Nevertheless,  in 
spite  of  the  torment,  Giacopo  continued  firm  in 
the  protestation  of  his  innocence ;  and  the  ex- 
trcmest  torture  was  unavailing  to  extort  from  him 
a  single  Avord. 

Yet,  although  proof  was  wanting,  the  Council 
of  Ten  declared  him  guilty,  and  attributed  his 
silence  to  the  effect  of  witchcraft  and  magic. 
Once  more,  therefore,  they  condemned  him,  and 
this  time  they  banished  him  to  a  more  remote 
place  in  Candia.  For  a  while  he  was  insane 
through  his  sufferings  in  body  and  mind ;  and 
though  his  innocence  was  proved  by  the  discovery 
of  the  real  assassin,  still  no  change  was  made  in 
8 


114  THE  WINGED   LION. 

his  sentence ;  and  on  the  recovery  of  his  reason 
ho  was  sent  to  Candia.  To  add  to  it  all,  this  time 
his  wife  was  not  allowed  to  accompany  him. 

"  Alone  in  this  far-distant  land,  the  miserable 
Giacopo  fell  a  victim  to  pining  homesickness. 
Death  seemed  preferable  to  this,  when  life  was 
intolerable ;  and  at  last,  in  his  despair,  ho  wrote  a 
letter  to  the  Duke  of  Milan,  entreating  his  inter- 
cession with  the  Venetian  government,  so  that  ho 
might  return  home,  even  as  a  prisoner. 

This  letter  was  discovered  by  the  Venetian 
spies,  and  the  result  was,  that  he  was  brouglit 
home  ;  but  it  was  on  the  charge  of  treasonable 
correspondence  with  a  foreign  state.  This  charge 
meant  a  fresh  trial  and  renewed  torture. 

Once  more,  and  for  a  third  time,  the  miserable 
Giacopo  was  subjected  to  the  torture ;  and  the 
miserable  father,  in  the  hideous  mockery  of  the  du- 
cal dignity,  was  compelled  to  preside.  For  no  less 
than  thirty  times  was  the  poor  victim  stretched 
upon  the  rack ;  bnt  no  torment  could  wring  from 
him  a  confession  of  guilt.  At  last,  all  torn,  bleed- 
ing, dislocated,  and  senseless,  he  was  carried  away. 
The  doge  was  allowed  to  visit  him  in  his  cell.  The 
wretched  father  tried  to  console  his  son,  but  fell 
senseless  in  his  agony. 

All  this,  however,  had  not  the  slightest  effect 
on  the  Council  of  Ten.  Giacopo  was  once  more 
punished  by  banishment,  and  once  more  he  left  his 
beloved  home  for  far-distant  Candia,  where  he  died 
shortly  after  his  arrival. 


THE  TWO   FOSCARI.  115 

• 

Tho  misorablo  father,  to  whom  death  would 
have  been  welcome,  continued  to  live  on.  He 
was  compelled  to  retain  his  dignity  of  doge,  but 
he  lived  secluded,  and  never  attended  any  more 
councils.  His  heart  was  broken,  and  there  was 
nothing  left  for  him  now  but  to  wait  patiently  for 
that  death  which  could  not  be  long  delayed. 

At  length  a  proposal  was  made  for  the  deposi- 
tion of  tho  doge.  Some  debate  followed,  and  at 
length  it  was  agreed  to.  So  they  declared  the 
office  of  doge  vacant,  ordered  him  to  quit  tho 
palace  within  three  days,  and  added  to  this  the 
vote  of  a  trifling  pension. 

Foscari  received  the  announcement  with  calm- 
ness. He  laid  aside  the  ducal  robes,  and  prepared 
to  go.  It  was  suggested  that  he  should  leave  by 
the  private  stairway,  but  this  he  refused.  "  No," 
said  he,  "  I  will  descend  by  the  same  steps  by  which 
I  mounted  thirty-five  years  ago." 

With  these  words  he  went  forth,  and,  supported 
by  his  brother,  he  slowly  descended  the  Giant's 
Stairs. 

Five  days  afterwards  the  bell  of  St.  Mark 
tolled  to  announce  the  eloction  of  a  new  doge. 
Its  sounds  penetrated  to  the  ears  of  Foscari.  It 
brought  before  him  all  his  wrongs  and  sufferings. 
He  started  up  in  unutterable  anguish  at  the  recol- 
lection that  crowded  upon  him  ;  some  inarticulate 
words  escaped  him  ;  but  before  the-  peal  of  the  bell 
had  ceased,  he  fell  down  dead. 


116  THE  WINGED   LION. 

It  is  ovidont  that  such  wrongs  as  thoso  of  tho 
two  Foscari  must  luivo  arisen  from  soniothing 
more  tlian  the  wanton  exorcise  of  tyranny  on  tho 
part  of  tho  Council  of  Ten.  This  dread  tribunal 
has  crimes  onougli  and  horrors  enough  to  answer 
for ;  but  in  this  case  it  has  only  a  part  of  tho  guilt 
that  arises  from  these  cruelties.  There  was  one 
who  stood  behind  them,  the  secret  mover,  who,  in 
all  his  acts,  was  but  Ibllowing  the  impulse  of  a  life- 
long trust  for  vengeance.    That  one  was  Loredano. 

He  belonged  to  a  family  which  had  an  heredi- 
tary feud  with  that  of  the  Foscari.  His  uncle,  who 
had  gained  high  distinction  as  admiral,  was  so  hos- 
tile to  Foscari,  that  tho  latter  once  declared  that 
he  should  never  be  doge  so  long  as  Pietro  Loredano 
lived.  Shortly  after  this  the  admiral  died  sudden- 
ly, it  w^as  rumored  ,by  poison.  His  brother  also 
died  shortly  after,  in  the  same  sudden  way,  and 
rumor  also  attributed  this  to  poison.  Loredano 
thus  lost  his  father  and  his  uncle.  He  believed 
that  Foscari  had  effected  their  destruction  in  this 
way.  Upon  his  father's  tomb  he  caused  the  in- 
scription to  be  placed  that  he  had  died  by  poison ; 
and  from  that  time  he  devoted  his  whole  life  to  the 
one  purpose  of  vengeance. 

At  length  he  found  himself  in  authority  as  one 
of  the  Council  of  Ten  —  that  supreme  tribunal,  be- 
fore whom  the  doge  himself  was  but  a  v/eak  tool. 
Here  he  had  occasion  to  use  the  tremendous  power 
which  had  been  placed  in  hk  hands,  and  there  was 


THE  TWO   FOSCAEI. 


117 


not  a  pang  that  tho  Foscari  sufTorod  which  was  not 
marked  by  him  as  so  much  satisiaction  given  to  his 
desire  for  rovongo. 

Like  most  of  tho  Venetian  nobles,  Loredano 
was  engaged  in  commerce.  When  he  lieard  of 
the  death  of  Fosr-^ri,  ho  took  down  one  of  liis 
ledgers,  and  turned  to  a  page  where  there  was  an 
entry  among  his  list  of  debtors. 

"  Francesco  Foscari,  for  the  death  of  my  father 
and  uncle." 

He  took  his  pen,  and  calmly  wrote  on  tlio  other 
side, — 

"  By  his  death."  • 

As  Vernon  ended,  he  turned  over  a  leaf  of  hia 
manuscript,  and  showed  a  page  which  was  ruled 
so  as  to  represent  the  page  of  a  merchant's  ledger, 
with  entries  of  debit  and  credit,  «Tch  as  Loredano 
might  have  had  before  him  when  he  balanced  his 
account  with  Fobcari. 


^^- 


<M. 


zancer^eo 


z. 


<^oi  in&  cieain  o»  'Jii'u  uitcie. 


lu  3  loi^uted  (M  <foit 
^laco^  ant/  aeM. 
6^  nM  etefuMiiion. 


118  THE  WINGED   LION. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Race  three  hundred  Feet  up  into  the  Air.  —  The  Story 
of  the  Origin  of  Venice.  —  The  Story  of  the  jealous 
•  Arti^i. 

HOULD  you  like  to  go  to  the  top  of  the 
tower  of  St.  Mark?"  asked  Vernoi  of 
Gracie. 

"  O,  yes/'  was  the  reply,  "  very,  very  much.  I 
should  like  it  above  all  things." 

"  But  it's  a  very  great  thing  to  do,"  said  Vernon. 
"  It's  very  much  higher  than  Bunker  Hill  Monu- 
ment." 

"  0,  but  I'm  a  capital  climber,"  said  Gracie.  "  I 
assure  you,  Mr,  Vernon,  I  should  like  it  above  all 
things." 

*•  O,  then,  if  that's  your  state  of  mind,  we  must 
go  at  once,"  said  Vernon. 

Leaving  the  doge's  palace  they  crossed  over  to 
the  Tower  of  St.  Mark,  which  Avas  only  a  short 
distance  away,  and  began  the  long  ascent.  Dave 
and  Clive  dashed  away,  and  ran  a  race  to  the  top, 
while  Vernon  and  Gracie  walked  more  slowly. 
Vernon  was  determined  that  Gracie  should  not  fa- 
tigue herself,  and  insisted  that  she  should  take  his 


/Sis 


A  RACE.  119 

arm.  Tin's  Gracie  positivelv  refused  to  do ;  but  at 
length,  as  Yernon  made  such  a  point  of  it,  she  con- 
sented. The  ascent  wound  round  and  round  in  a 
spiral  way  ;  it  was  very  gradual  and  very  easy,  yet, 
such  was  Vernon's  anxious  solicitude  about  Gracie 
that  he  made  her  stop  more  than  twenty  times  on 
the  way  up,  so  as  to  avoid  all  fatigue.  In  this  way 
they  went  up,  and  reached  the  top  long  after  Olive 
and  David ;  but  Gracie  was  not  in  the  least  tired, 
and  her  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  showed 
that  the  ascent  had  been  beneficial  rather  than 
exhaustive. 

On  looking  out  from  their  lofty  position,  they 
beheld,  on  every  side,  a  most  magnificent  view. 
Beneath  lay  Venice,  the  peerless  city  of  the  sea, 
with  the  water  all  around.  Yet  from  this  height 
they  Avere  not  able  to  see  many  of  the  canals,  for 
the  lofty  houses  concealed  all  of  them  except  the 
Grand  Canal,  and  one  or  two  others  that  were  close 
by  them.  Towards  the  east  lay  the  broad  Adriatic, 
with  a  blue  line  along  the  horizon,  showing  the 
coast  of  Dalmatia ;  on  the  west  they  saw  the  plains 
of  Italy ;  on  the  north,  the  mountains ;  while  on  the 
south  the  sea  faded  away  till  in  the  distance  it 
blended  with  the  horizon. 

Perhaps  the  most  wonderful  thing  of  all  was  the 
deep  silence  that  prevailed.  All  was  still.  There 
was  no  rumble  from  carriage- wheels,  none  of  that 
uproar  which  marks  every  other  city.  It  seemed 
like  a  city  of  the  dead. 


120  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"  Haven't  you  some  more  stories  in  that  mann- 
Bcript  of  yours  ?  "  asked  Gracie,  after  she  had  seen 
all  that  was  to  be  seen. 

"  0,  yes/'  said  Vernon,  "  lots  of  them  ;  but  I  don't 
knowwhi"  to  choose.  I  wish  to  choose  something 
appropriate.  Let  me  see.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
best  thing  to  read  just  now  is  about  the  origin  of 
Venice."  ■  ^: 

So  Vernon  went  on  to  read 

The  Origin  of  Venice. 

The  name  of  Venice  is  derived  from  that  of 
the  Veneti,  a  people  who  lived  upon  the  adjoining 
main  land,  under  the  Roman  empire.  During  the 
decline  of  that  power,  they  suffered  much  from  va- 
rious invaders,  until  at  length  the  approach  of  At- 
tila,  "  the  Scourge  of  God,"  sent  many  of  them  to 
seek  for  refuge  in  seme  place  which  would  be  less 
liable  to  the  ravages  of  hostile  bands.  Such  a 
place  they  found  in  a  cluster  of  little  islands  which 
lay  a  few  miles  out  at  sea,  at  the  head  of  the  Adri- 
atic. Defended  by  the  sea  from  the  armies  that 
ravaged  Italy,  they  were  also  equally  well  de- 
fended from  piratical  ships  or  hostile  fleets,  by  sand- 
banks and  shoals  that  could  only  be  traversed 
through  channels  of  the  most  intricate  character. 
This,  then,  was  the  place  which  the  fugitive  Veneti 
chose  for  their  refuge ;  and  here  they  settled  upon 
one  of  the  largest  islands,  which  boT*"  he  name  of 
Rialto.     It  was  on  the  25th  of  March,  452,  when 


ORIGIN  OP  VENICE.  121 

this  first  settlement  was  made.  Nnmeroiis  bands 
of  people  followed,  settling  upon  adjoining  islands, 
and  the  little  community  thus  began  that  career 
which  was  destined  to  be  so  splendid.  Though  a 
part  of  the  Roman  empire,  the  Veneti  governed 
themselves,  and  were  but  rarely  troubled  by  the 
agents  of  the  emperor.  They  had  what  was  virtu- 
ally a  free  republic  ;  and  thus,  with  the  great  bless- 
ings of  freedom  and  safety,  together  with  a  good 
government,  and  law,  and  order,  they  were  in  a 
condition  which,  in  comparison  with  that  of  other 
cities,  may  justly  be  called  most  enviable. 

Time  passed  o^  ,  and  at  length  large  numbers 
of  fugitives  again  came  out  to  settle  upon  neigh- 
boring islands.  These  were  driven  away  by  the 
advance  of  Alboin  at  the  head  of  his  Lombards. 
The  new  settlements,  after  a  time,  became  con- 
nected with  the  old  one  ;  and  at  length,  in  the  year 
697,  the  necessity  was  felt  of  a  regular  organized 
government  which  should  blend  them  all  into  one 
state.  Twelve  of  the  principal  men  were  empow- 
ered to  choose  a  ruler,  and  this  one  thus  elected 
was  called  the  Doge  or  Duke  of  Venice. 

Venice  now  went  on  increasing  in  population, 
extending  its  commerce,  and  developing  its  naval 
power.  During  the  eighth  and  ninth  centuries,  the 
ravages  of  the  Saracens  filled  all  Christendom  with 
terror ;  but  Venice  remained  secure.  More  than 
this,  the  common  danger  seemed  to  bring  forth 
more  prominently  the  strength  of  this  young  city 


122  THE  WINGED   LION. 

of  the  seas,  to  draw  forth  her  resources,  and 
strengthen  her  maritime  power.  In  one  great 
struggle  of  the  Italians  against  the  Eastern  Roman 
Empire,  the  Venetian  fleet  took  a  prominent  part, 
and  gained  a  decisive  victory;  while  her  next 
great  victory  was  gained  over  the  ruler  of  the  new- 
risen  Western  Roman  Empire,  the  mighty  Charle- 
magne. In  this  struggle  the  fleet  of  the  emperor, 
which  was  commanded  by  his  son  Pepin,  was  de- 
feated. 

In  the  year  809  the  government  was  made 
stronger.  By  this  time  no  less  than  sixty  islands 
were  united  in  the  city  of  Venice.  Her  commerce 
extended  far  and  wide ;  her  maritime  power  was 
sufficient  to  insure  her  the  command  of  the  Adri- 
atic Sea;  and  already  the  wealth  and  power  of  the 
young  republic  were  visible  in  splendid  edifices. 

Her  power  now  continued  to  increase.  Towards 
the  end  of  the  tenth  century  the  cities  of  Dalmatia 
put  themselves  under  her  protection.  At  the  end 
of  the  eleventh  century  the  crusades  began,  and 
these  mighty  movements  acted  directly  and  imme- 
diately upon  Venice,  increasing  her  population,  ex- 
tending her  commerce,  enlarging  her  naval  power, 
and  developing  to  an  immense  extent  all  her  re- 
sources. It  was  during  this  period  that  she  attained 
to  her  highest  glory.  She  became  tlie  Queen  of  the 
Adriatic,  the  conqueror  of  the  capital  of  the  East, 
the  chief  of  all  the  cities  on  earth,  when  — 


ORIGIN  OP  VENICE.  '   123 

"  her  daughters  had  their  dowers 
From  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  exhaustless  East 
Poured  in  her  lap  all  gems  in  sparkling  showers. 
In  purple  was  she  robed,  and  of  her  feast 
Monarchs  partook,  and  deemed  their  dignity  increased. 

In  youth  she  was  all  glory  —  a  new  Tyre ; 
Her  very  by-word  sprung  from  victory, 
The  *  Planter  of  the  Lion,'  wliich  through  fire 
And  blood  she  bore  o'er  subject  earth  and  sea; 
^  Though  making  many  slaves,  herself  still  free, 

And  Europe's  bulwark  'gainst  the  Ottomite ; 
Witness  Troy's  rival,  Candia  I     Vouch  it,  ye 
Immortal  waves,  that  saw  Lepanto's  fight  I 
For  ye  are  names  no  time  nor  tyranny  can  blight." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gracie  ;  "  that's  very  nice. 
It  isn't  tragic.  It  isn't  exciting.  It's  simply  nice. 
It's  so  full  of  information,  and  all  that,  you  ^-now. 
But  as  to  your  quotation  from  Byron,  I  think  that 
it  is  not  so  effective  just  now  as  it  ought  to  be." 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

"  0,  well,  you  know,  after  one  has  just  emerged 
from  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition,  and  has  all 
the  horror  about  one,  why,  one  has  no  patience  with 
Venice.  To  indulge  in  lamentations  over  her  fall 
seems  rather  out  of  place.  For  how  can  one  feel 
like  lamenting  the  fall  of  a  state  which  was  built 
upon  a  system  of  wrong,  and  baseness,  and  hideous 
cruelty  ?  The  names  of  the  two  Foscari  are  enough 
to  put  one  out  of  conceit  with  Venice  forever." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Vernon,  "  that  is  ex- 
actly my  own  feeling,  and  I  have  no  sympathy 
whatever  with  Childe  Harold's  lamentations  over 
Venice." 


124  THE  WINGED  LION. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Gracie,  "  we  must  regard  all 
that  as  the  poet's  art." 

"  You  have  the  idea  exactly/'  said  Vernon.  "  You 
are  so  quick  at  catching  hints,  and  so  apt,  that  I 
long  to  have  you  for  my  pupil,  if  it  were  only  for  a 
short  time ;  for  I  know  that  you  would  make  the 
most  brilliant  progress."  -     : 

"  But,  then,  there's  poor  dear  auntie  I "  said 
Gracie,  with  a  little  sigh.  "0,  if  she  were  only 
here  !  or  somewhere  so  that  I  could  hear  from  her  I" 

After  seeing  all  that  was  to  be  seen,  they  de- 
scended. Clive  and  David,  as  before,  ran  a  race 
down.  Clive  had  beaten  in  the  race  up.  He  had 
passed  David  not  long  after  starting,  and  thinking 
that  David  was  close  behind,  had  run  all  the  way. 
The  exertion  was  tremendous,  and  he  had  reached 
the  top  in  such  a  state  of  exhaustion  that  it  was 
long  before  he  could  recover  his  breath ;  ;,nd  even 
then  he  felt  in  that  condition  which  is  isually 
termed  shaky.  As  for  David,  he  soon  gave  up  the 
race,  and,  after  Clive  had  passed,  he  slackened  his 
pace  to  a  moderate  walk.  He  was  rewarded  for 
this,  for  on  the  race  down  Clive  soon  gave  out ;  but 
David,  being  quite  fresh,  kept  ahead,  and  reached 
the  bottom  long  before  his  rival. 

As  for  Vernon  and  Gracie,  they  did  not  think  of 
racing,  or  hurrying  in  any  way.     Vernon  insisted 
again  on  her  taking  his  arm,  so  that  she  might  be 
saved  from  the  fatigue  of  the  descent ;  and  Gracie 
again,  after  a  first  refusal,  accepted   the   offer. 


PICTURES.  125 

Then  they  came  down  very  leisurely,  —  so  leisure- 
ly, in  fact,  that  Clive  and  David  grew  tired  with 
waiting  for  them. 

On  reaching  the  bottom,  Vernon  proposed  a  visit 
to  some  picture  galleries,  as  this  would  be  an  easy 
and  pleasant  way  of  passing  the  remainder  of  the 
day.  This,  of  course,  was  an  agreeable  proposal, 
and  they  were  soon  seated  in  the  gondola  on  their 
way  to  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts.  It  was  a  noble 
edifice,  superbly  furnished,  and  filled  with  great 
paintings,  the  crown  and  glory  of  which  was  the 
famous  "  Assumption  "  of  Titian.  Vernon  pointed 
out  the  peculiar  qualities  of  this  great  master,  and 
had  many  stories  to  tell  relative  to  his  life  and 
character. 

Leaving  this,  they  visited  the  Pisano  and  Barbe- 
rigo  Palaces,  and  at  length  they  came  to  the  Palazzo 
Manfrini.  This  was  a  marble  edifice  of  great 
beauty,  containing  a  collection  of  pictures  as  ex- 
tensive and  as  excellent  as  that  of  the  Academy  of 
Fine  Arts.  The  pictures  represented  many  artists, 
and  many  schools  of  painting.  Vernon  showed 
them  works  of  Titian,  of  Tintoretto,  of  Rubens,  of 
Rembrandt,  and  many  others,  pointing  out  the  dis- 
tinguishing features  of  each.  From  a  few  words  and 
simple  explanations  thus  made  by  a  skilful  artist  in 
the  presence  of  the  pictures  themselves,  Gracie 
learned  more  than  she  could  have  gained  from  pro- 
longed study  of  mere  books. 

At  length  they  sat  down  by  a  window  which 


126  THE  WINGED  LION. 

looked  out  upon  the  Grand  Canal,  and  here  once 
more  Vernon  produced  his  manuscript. 

'*  If  you  care  about  it,"  he  said,  "  I  will  read  you 
a  story.  It's  not  about  statesmen,  or  soldiers ; 
it's  about  artists." 

The  others  received  his  proposal  with  much 
pleasure,  and  thereupon  Vernon  read 

The  Story  of  Daru  and  Prtuli. 

Daru  and  Priuli  had  been  rivals  in  youth,  but 
Priuli  had  distanced  the  other,  and  his  superior 
genius  was  manifest.  For  this  Daru  could  never 
forgive  him ;  and  as  Priuli  went  on  in  the  full  tide 
of  honor  and  fortune,  Daru  never  ceased  to  feel 
the  bitterest  jealousy,  accompanied  by  a  fierc^ 
thirst  for  vengeance  on  the  man  whose  only  offence 
had  been  his  superior  abilities.  Outwardly,  howev- 
er, Daru  professed  a  warm  and  admiring  friendship  ; 
and  Priuli,  who  was  too  successful  to  feel  jealous 
himself,  was  slow  to  suspect  jealousy  in  others.  So 
he  gave  Daru  credit  for  all  the  friendship  that  he 
professed,  which  friendship  the  other  tried  to  make 
as  intimate  as  ^^ossible.  Flattery  of  Priuli  and  de- 
preciation of  himself  were  the  means  which  he  em- 
ployed, and  in  this  way  he  so  won  upon  the  other's 
good  will,  that  his  confidence  followed  as  a  matter 
of  course.  And  now,  having  gained  this  much, 
Daru  watched  every  act  of  Priuli,  in  the  hope  that 
sometliing  would  take  place  which  might  put  him 
in  his  power.     Still  the  task  was  a  tedious  one. 


THE   JEALOUS   ARTIST.  127 

For  a  simple  artist  like  Priuli,  an  offence  against 
the  laws  was  hardly  possible.  He  had  no  vices. 
Ho  lived  frugally.  He  made  no  debts,  nor  did  he 
ever  gamble.  All  the  ordinary  ways  by  which 
one  man  may  lead  another  to  ruin  were  tlms  closed 
to  Daru,  who  fo  xnd  liimself  compelled  to  trust  to 
the  chapter  of  accidents.  Even  the  quietest  and 
most  -innocent  men,  thought  Daru,  will  often  do 
things  that  may  be  distorted  so  as  to  seem  like 
offences  of  great  magnitude  ;  all  that  I  need  is 
patience ;  something  must  occur  at  last. 

At  last  something  did  occur.  A  French  noble 
residing  at  Venice  had  engaged  Priuli  to  paint  him 
a  picture,  which  Priuli  had  finished  and  had  taken 
to  his  lodgings.  It  happened  that  war  suddenly 
broke  out  between  France  and  Venice  consequent 
upon  the  famous  League  of  Cambray,  and  the  French 
noble  found  himself  compelled  to  return  home.  At 
the  same  time  all  his  financial  resources  were  cut 
off,  owing  to  the  war ;  and  for  the  same  reason  he 
found  it  impossible  to  obtain  money  from  the  bro- 
kers. In  this  emergency  Priuli  urged  him  to  take 
the  picture  and  send  him  the  money  at  some  future 
time.  The  French  noble  did  so,  and  Priuli  knew 
that  the  debt  would  be  paid,  as  the  rank  and  wealth 
of  the  debtor  placed  him  beyond  the  reach  of  sus- 
picion. His  confidence  was  well  founded.  Long 
before  the  time  had  ended  which  he  had  counted 
on  as  the  probable  duration  of  the  debt,  the  money 
was  sent  to  him.     It  came  by  a  Venetian  Jew,  who 


128  THE   WINGED   LION. 

« 

had  just  returned  from  Milttn,  where  he  had  been 
commissioned  by  the  French  noble  to  give  the 
money  to  Priuli. 

All  this  was  well  known  to  Baru.  It  seemed 
to  hiin  to  be  the  very  time  for  which  he  had  been 
so  long  waiting.  Accordingly  he  hastened  to  make 
a  chargo  against  Priuli,  and  dropped  into  tho  dread 
"  Lion's  Mouth  "  secret  information  that  Priuli  had 
received  money  from  a  foreign  prince  with  whom 
Venice  was  at  war. 

Such  a  charge  was  a  terrible  one  at  all  times. 
The  law  was  strict,  and  was  watched  with  jealous 
vigilance.  On  charges  of  this  sort  some  of  the 
highest  and  haughtiest  nobles  in  Venice  had  been 
arrested  and  tried.  Fame,  rank,  virtue,  popularity, 
all  had  failed  to  save  them.  All  this  Daru  well 
knew,  and  he  thought  that  in  a  time  like  this  such 
a  charge  against  a  private  man  like  Priuli  would 
bo  certain  ruin. 

This  was  the  fearful  system  at  Venice,  that  any 
man  might  gratify  his  spite  by  an  anonymous  de- 
nunciation of  an  enemy  on  any  charge  whatever. 
If  the  charge  proved  utterly  unfounded,  the  pris- 
c.ier  was  set  free,  yet  reluctantly  ;  for  the  Venetian 
government  never  let  any  one  go  free  if  they  could 
possibly  help  it ;  while,  if  there  were  any  ground 
whatever  for  the  charge,  the  utmost  efforts  were 
put  forth  to  extort  a  confession  from  the  accused, 
and  those  efforts  were  generally  the  effective  work- 
ings of  the  rack,  or  other  instruments  of  torture. 


THE   JEALOUS   ARTIST.  129 

So,  when  Dam  learned  that  Priuli  had  been  ar- 
rested,  ho  felt  sure  that  the  charge  would  bo  sifted 
to  the  bottom ;  that  the  payment  of  money  would 
be  found  out,  and  that  in  order  to  extort  further 
confession,  Priuli  would  undoubtedly  bo  placed 
upon  the  rack. 

And  after  that,  thought  Daru,  he'll  have  to  Ho 
in  some  dungeon  till  he  rots ;  or,  if  ho  does  get 
out,  his  joints  will  bo  too  sore  to  allow  him  to  paint 
again.  0,  ho,  my  Priidino  I  caro  amico  1  how  do 
you  like  my  Lady  Rack  ? 

Meanwhile  Priuli  had  been  arrested,  and  brought 
before  his  judges.  His  explanation  was  frank  and 
simple.  He  had  received  no  money  from  a  foreign 
power,  but  had  merely  received  payment  of  a  debt 
from  a  private  person.  He  told  the  whole  story  so 
that  there  could  not  be  any  doubt  as  to  its  truth  in 
the  minds  of  the  judges. 

Now,  had  Priuli  been  a  powerful  noble,  with 
powerful  enemies,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  charge 
could  have  been  pressed  most  vehemently,  and 
the  rack  would  certainly  have  been  applied.  But 
Priuli  was  not  a  noble.  He  was  a  simple  artist. 
He  had  no  powerful  enemies,  and  no  one  in  author- 
ity felt  it  to  be  his  interest  to  put  him  to  the  tor- 
ture. Moreover,  the  Venetians  were  always  tender 
to  artists ;  and  so,  as  there  was  no  motive  to  con- 
demn him,  h(3  was  not  condemned.  At  the  same 
time  it  was  not  in  accordance  with  their  policy  to 
set  any  prisoner  free  too  quickly.  The  Venetian 
9 


130  THE  WINGED   LION. 

governmont  lived,  and  moved,  and  bad  its  boin^^  in 
a  system  of  fiondisb  cruelty  and  never-ending  ter- 
rorism, wbicli  was  always  carried  out  to  tbo  fullest 
possible  extent.  Priuli,  tberefore,  after  bis  exami- 
nation, was  remanded  to  bis  prison. 

lUit  tbo  Venetian  government,  witb  its  count- 
less spies,  kept  note  of  all  tbe  doings  of  tlio  people. 
Seldom  was  it  tbat  any  one  was  denounced  witbout 
tbeir  finding  out  wbo  tbo  informant  was.  Tbeir 
policy  was  to  question  tbe  prisoner  as  to  all  bis 
friends  and  associates,  bis  business,  his  acts,  and 
even  bis  tbougbts.  From  all  tbese  tbey  could 
judge  with  cool  and  subtle  penetration  as  to  the 
motives  of  the  information,  and  tbe  name  of  tbe  in- 
former. So  it  was  in  this  case  ;  and  it  did  not  re- 
quire much  acuteness  to  perceive  tbat  Daru  was 
the  enemy. 

The  Venetians,  moreover,  were  a  commercial 
people,  and  always  sought  to  get  the  greatest  pos- 
sible benefit  from  the  smallest  possible  outlay.  It 
seemed  shocking  to  all  principles  of  business  to  let 
a  man  like  Priuli  live  in  idleness  in  a  dungeon, 
when  be  might  be  so  much  better  employed.  And 
so,  being  in  want  of  a  picture  for  the  Ducal  Palace, 
they  gave  him  a  commission  to  paint  one  of  a  cer- 
tain size  upon  some  event  in  Venetian  history.  Ho 
was  removed  to  a  comfortable  room,  where  he  could 
work  at  his  ease,  and  everything  \vas  furnished  him 
which  he  desired.  In  this  way  they  accomplished 
many  things.     They  retained  the  prisoner  in  his 


THE   JEALOUS    AHTIST.  131 

prison,  yet  tlioy  made  that  prisoner  as  comfortable 
as  a  free  man.  They  also  utilized  his  genius  and 
his  industry  in  their  own  behalf,  and  by  giving  him 
agreeable  employment  prevented  him  from  sinking 
into  despondency. 

Meanwhile  Daru  was  exulting  in  the  complete- 
ness of  his  vengeance.  He  thought  of  Priuli, 
racked,  tormented,  prostrated  in  body  and  mind, 
no  longer  able  to  outshine  him.  Even  if  he  should 
now  be  freed,  ho  thouglit,  he  can  no  longer  have 
the  mind  to  conceive  or  the  hand  to  execute.  This 
would  make  him  the  first  artist  in  Venice,  and  to 
him  would  come  all  those  lucrative  orders  which 
had  formerly  fallen  to  the  lot  of  Priuli.  With  these 
thoughts  lie  solicited  from  the  government  a  com- 
mission for  the  execution  of  that  very  work,  which, 
unknown  to  him,  had  already  been  intrusted  to 
Priuli.  He  had  heard  that  the  work  had  been  de- 
cided on,  and  thought  that  he  had  the,  best  claim 
to  it. 

His  request  was  granted.  At  the  same  time 
certain  conditions  were  imposed.  Another  artist, 
he  was  told,  had  already  been  engaged ;  but  the 
government  was  willing  to  let  him  take  it  if  he 
would  consent  to  let  its  acceptance  be  subject  to 
the  approval  of  a  committee  which  should  judge 
between  his  work  and  that  of  the  other  artist. 

To  this  Daru  gladly  consented.  Who  the  other 
artist  might  be  did  not  concern  him  in  the  least. 
He  supposed  him  to  be  some  rising  artist  under  the 


132  THE   WINGED   LION. 

patronage  of  some  eminent  noble,  wlio  had  obtained 
the  work  for  him.  But  now  that  Prinli  was  gone, 
there  was  not  one  among  the  artists  of  Venice  who 
could  compete  with  himself.      .  ; 

He  set  to  work,  labored  diligently,  and  at  length 
his  picture  was  completed.  It  represented  a  scene 
from  Venetian  history  —  Carlo  Zeno  wounded  at 
Chiozza. 

A  deputation  came  to  see  it,  and  were  lavish  in 
their  expressions  of  praise.  At  the  same  time  they 
informed  him  that  the  other  artist  had  completed 
his,  and  had  sent  it  to  the  Ducal  Palace.  They 
added  that  it  had  been  much  admired,  and  coui  ^ 
teously  invited  him  to  go  with  them  and  see  it. 
Such  an  invitation  was  not  to  be  declined,  and  so 
Daru  went  with  them.  As  he  went  he  felt  strange 
and  dismal  forebodings.  He  wondered  how  it  was 
that  the  other  picture  should  already  be  at  the 
palace.  Had  they  chosen  it  before  seeing  his  ?  Or 
was  there  something  beneath  all  this  ?  The  sus- 
picious nature  of  Daru  was  aroused,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done. 

On  reaching  the  Ducal  Palace  he  was  called 
into  a  large  upper  room  in  the  left  wing.  Here  he 
saw  a  brilliant  company  assembled.  Among  them 
were  the  doge  himself  and  the  chief  counsellors. 
But  in  that  company  he  saw  one  form  which  made 
him  blind  to  all  the  rest.  Forgetting  the  rever- 
ence due  to  this  august  company,  he  stood  rigid, 
and  staring,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  face  of  that 


THE  JEALOUS   ARTIST.  133 

man  whom  for  months  he  had  thought  of  as  lan- 
guishing in  a  drear  dungeon. 

"  We  have  given  you  a  commission,  signor/^  said 
the  doge,  "  but  we  had  previously  given  it  to 
another,  with  whom  you  were  to  compete.  We 
honor  our  Priuli  so  much  that  we  have  invited  him 
to  our  own  Ducal  Palace  to  do  his  work  undis- 
turbed. His  work  is  finished.  It  is  here.  Come 
and  see  whether  you  think  that  yours  is  equal  to 
this."     • 

Trembling  and  distracted  with  conflicting  emo- 
tions, the  wretched  Daru  could  neither  speak  nor 
move.  His  base  plot  had  been  discovered.  The 
accused  had  been  absolved  and  raised  to  honor; 
he,  the  informer,  had  been  detected  and  mocked. 
Mocked  !  And  was  that  all  ?  Would  that  it  were. 
But  he  was  here  before  the  dread  Council,  and  the 
awful  prison-house  was  near. 

''  This,"  continued  the  doge,  "  is  an  admirable 
picture,  a  masterpiece,  which  shall  adorn  our  walls. 
As  to  your  work,  why,  you  shall  be  rewarded  —  for 
all  that  you  have  done." 

There  was  a  terrible  meaning  in  these  words. 
As  the  doge  ended,  he  made  a  sign  to  the  attend- 
ants, and  they  led  Daru  away. 

Priuli  was  restored  to  liberty  in  a  few  days, 
but  Daru,  after  having  been  kept  in  prison  for  about 
a  year,  left  Venice,  and  never  came  back. 


134  .  THE  WINGED   LION. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Another  Call  on  the  Police^  with  the  Result  thereof.  —  The 
Story  of  the  ambitious  Money-Lender  and  his  malignant 
Plot,  '  ,    .  V. 

FTER  quitting  the  Palazzo  Manfrini,  they 
went  home.  Leaving  his  friends  here, 
Yernon  proceeded  to  the  Bureau  of  Police 
in  order  to  find  out  whether  they  had  received  any 
information  from  Verona.  The  answer  was  neither 
satisfactory  nor  encouraging.  They  had  heard 
nothing  from  their  messenger,  and  they  could  not 
give  any  idea  of  the  time  when  they  would  hear. 
It  struck  Vernon  that  there  was  an  unpleasant  air 
of  indifference  about  these  gentlemen  of  the  po- 
lice ;  and  there  was  a  vague  impression  made  upon 
his  mixid  that  perhaps  they  expected  to  be  paid  for 
these  labors,  which  were  outside  Oi'  their  usual 
routine.  Had  Vernon  been  in  the  possession  of  his 
usual  presence  of  mind,  he  would  have  understood 
the  situation  at  once,  and  have  taken  the  hint 
which  these  noble  gentlemen  of  the  police  were 
not  slow  to  give.  He  would  have  feed  them  lib- 
erally all  round,  and  then  —  why,  the  business 
would  have  been   promptly  performed,  and   this 


THE  POLICE.  135 

story  would  liave  taken  a  different  turn  altogether. 
But  Yornon  was  not  at  all  his  usual  self.  He  was 
absent-minded ;  his  thoughts  went  wool-gathering  ; 
moreover,  he  did  not  feel  any  very  great  anxiety 
to  bring  the  business  to  an  end.  The  fact  was, 
he  was  infatuated  about  Gracic,  and  his  present 
situation  was  so  delightful  that  he  dreaded  any 
change.  The  advent  of  Gracie's  aunt  upon  the 
scene  might  put  an  end  to  his  pleasant  wanderings 
with  her.  The  aunt  might  be  grim,  and  precise, 
and  rigid,  and  over-particular,  and  therefore  he 
dreaded  her  arrival.  lie  certainly  did  all  that  was 
befitting ;  but  he  did  not  show  that  fertility  of  re- 
source, that  energy  and  zeal,  which  he  would  have 
exhibited  under  different  circumstances.  And  so 
he  did  not  fee  the  police,  and  the  police,  as  will 
afterwards  appear,  were  languid  in  their  efforts ; 
and  Gracie's  aunt  remained  hidden  under  a  dense 
cloud,  and  Yernon  had  to  console  Gracie  as  best 
he  could. 

Pie  explained  to  Gracie  that  everything  was  go- 
ing on  well,  but  that  as  yet  no  tidings  had  been 
received.  He  showed,  however,  that  there  had 
not  yet  been  sufficient  time  to  hear  anything,  and 
encouraged  her  by  the  assurance  that  in  a  day  or 
two  all  would  be  well.  He  urged  her  to  think  of 
Italy  as  she  would  think  of  Massachusetts,  and 
declared  that  no  danger  could  possibly  befall  any 
one. 

"  In  a  day  or  two,"  said  he,  "  you  will  see  her. 


136  THE  WINGED   LION. 

It'll  take  a  day  for  the  messenger  to  get  to  Yerona 
and  start  the  Yerona  police  on  the  search  ;  well, 
that's  what  has  been  done  to-day :  another  day  will 
be  needed  to  find  her  ;  no  more  than  that,  I  should 
think,  will  be  necessary  ;  well,  that's  to-morrow : 
the  third  day  will  be  taken  up  with  her  journey 
here,  or  else  with  the  sending  of  a  message  to  you. 
And  so,  you  know,  I  really  don't  see  any  cause  for 
anxiety." 

In  spite  of  these  confident  assurances,  however, 
Gracio  did  feel  anxious  —  very  anxious. 

"  It  isn't  because  I'm  afraid  of  any  danger  hap- 
pening to  her,  Mr.  Yernon,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  fear 
very  much  that  her  anxiety  about  me  will  make 
her  ill.  She  is  very  much  inclined  to  worry  about 
tilings,  and  to  lose  me  in  this  way  is  something 
terrible.  0,  I  think  I  ought  to  have  gone  back  to 
Yerona." 

^^  To  Yerona  !  "  said  Yernon,  aghast.  "  0,  no  — 
no,  no.  You  did  exactly  right.  For  after  all,  your 
aunt  may  come  here,  and  if  so,  she  will  communi- 
cate with  the  police  at  once,  and  will  find  you  with- 
out any  trouble.  0,  no  ;  it  would  have  been  mad- 
ness for  you  to  go  back  to  Yerona." 

In  this  way  Yernon  succeeded  in  quelling  the 
fears  of  Gracie,  and  after  this  he  tried  to  divert 
her  thoughts  from  so  painful  a  subject  by  turning 
them  to  other  things.  He  had  other  pictures  to 
show  her,  he  said,  about  which  he  wished  to  have 
her  opinion.     There  were  two  in  particular,  and 


VERN0N*8   PICTURES.  137 

each  of  these  was  connected  with  a  story,  which 
story  he  had  written  out  in  his  manuscript.  The 
mention  of  this  excited  Gracie's  curiosity,  and 
Vernon  produced  the  pictures,  while  Gracie,  and 
David,  and  Clive  all  looked  at  them  with  the  deep- 
est interest. 

The  first  one  was  called  "  The  Lion's  Mouth. '^ 
It  represented  a  man  dropping  a  paper  into  that 
awful  receptacle.  The  paper  was  supposed  to  con- 
tain a  denunciation  of  some  one.  The  face  of  the 
informer  was  turned  towards  the  spectator,  as  his 
hand  dropped  the  paper,  and  there  was  upon  it  a 
marvellous  portrayal  of  hate,  fear,  vigilance,  re- 
venge, together  with  cunning,  and  vulgar  exulta- 
tion. It  was  a  mean  and  contemptible  face,  and 
the  skill  of  the  artist  was  shown  in  his  subtile  de- 
lineation of  these  mingled  passions. 

They  all  looked  at  this  picture  with  the  deepest 
interest  and  admiration. 

"  You  do  not  know  Avhat  it  is  about/'  said  Ver- 
non. -■■■■.•.  ■   -.:■;■  ■■         -i         :  -V  „/^  -r-   -:■ 

"  O,  yes,"  said  Gracie  ;  "  the  picture  is  eloquent. 
It,  tells  all ;  but  of  course  it  does  not  tell  the  names 
and  the  minor  incidents,  and  so,  if  you  are  not  tired, 
and  are  willing  to  read  us  one  of  your  stories,  I'm 
sure  we  should  all  feel  very  much  obliged." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Vernon,  "  if  you  are  willing  to 
listen,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  read  the  story." 

Saying  this,  he  read  from  his  manuscript  the 
story  of 


138  THE   WINGED  LION. 


Memmo  and  Valiero. 


The  Yenetian  republic  was  a  nation  of  shop- 
keepers. In  this  commercial  state  nearly  all  the 
nobles  were  engaged  in  trade ;  and  from  them 
arose  the  name  Merchant  Princes.  Dealers  in 
money  arose,  and  throve  among  them  at  an  early 
period.  In  the  twelfth  century  a  bank  was  estab- 
lished, —  the  first  in  the  world,  —  which  flourished 
for  centuries  before  any  other  land  had  a  similar 
institution.  Private  money-lenders,  usurers,  and 
brokers  were  as  common  at  Venice  in  the  middle 
ages  as  they  are  now,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  in 
London.  Money  was  subject  to  the  same  fluctua- 
tions. Hard  times  came  and  went.  The  rate  of 
.  interest  varied,  and  all  sorts  of  contrivances  were 
resorted  to  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  the  needful. 

Conspicuous  among  these  Venetian  bankers 
was  Memmo,  a  self-made  man,  who  had  risen  from 
nothing,  and  by  a  long  course  of  prosperous  specu- 
lation and  money-lending  had  made  himself  wealthy. 
Many  nobles  were  among  his  debtors,  and  among 
those  who  were  deepest  on  his  books  was  Valiero, 
a  member  of  one  of  the  proudest  families  in  the 
state.  Like  most  other  nobles,  he  was  engaged  in 
business ;  but  various  misfortunes  had  overtaken 
him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  raise  money  by  all 
the  wretched  devices  known  to  men  in  difliculties. 
From  Memmo  he  had  obtained  Avhat  he  wanted, 
and  in  return  had  mortgaged  his  houses  and  estates, 


THE  money-lender's   PLOT.  139 

and  had  given  his  obligations  for  immense  sums. 
At  last  it  seemed  to  Memmo  that  Valicro  was  com- 
pletely in  his  power,  and  that  the  time  had  como 
for  broaching  a  plan  which  had  been  in  his  mind 
for  j'^ears. 

Memmo  was  ambitious.  He  had  gained  wealth, 
but  that  was  not  enough.  Ho  wished  to  obtain 
social  distinction.  For  this  he  was  willing  to  mako 
pecuniary  sacrifices  to  almost  any  extent.  The 
misfortunes  of  Yaliero  and  his  immense  debts 
seemed  to  open  a  way  for  the  accomplishment  of 
his  wishes.  He  had  a  daughter,  Valiero  had  a  son. 
If  these  two  could  be  married  it  would  at  once 
bring  the  self-made  Memmo  into  the  charmed  circle 
of  the  aristocracy ;  and  while  Valiero  should  be- 
come free  from  debt,  Memmo  should  rise  to  that 
lofty  world  where  dwelt  those  whose  noble  names 
were  inscribed  in  the  Libro  d'  Oro. 

Yaliero  came  to  him  one  day  in  want  of  more 
money. 

Memmo  asked  what  security  he  had  to  give. 

Yaliero's  property  was  all  covered  by  mort- 
gages, and  nothing  was  left  but  his  ships  and  car- 
goes. -:.J  ^  .  -   ^   -'.-.-      'A-- 

"  I  have  ships,"  said  he,  "  with  cargoes  of  silk 
and  spices.  They  will  soon  be  here,  and  retrieve 
all."  -::.• 

Memmo  shook  his  head. 

"  A  ship  at  sea  is  no  security.  The  Turks,  the 
tempests,  and  all  other  accidents  and  dangers,  await 


140  THE   WINGED   LION. 

them.  Bosifles,  you  have  been  unfortunate,  and 
my  experience  has  been  tliat  when  once  ill  luck 
assails  a  man,  it  never  leaves  him." 

Valiero  sighed. 

"  It's  true,"  said  he,  "  I've  been  unfortunate  of 
late.     But  I  have  hope  yet."  *  \ 

"  Your  last  hope." 

"  It's  my  last  hope."  ' 

"  And  if  it  fails  ?  " 

"  Then  I'm  a  ruined  man,"  said  Yaliero. 

"  Ruined.  0,  no,"  said  Memmo  ;  "  not  ruined  — 
not  while  I  live.     We'll  pull  through,  after  all." 

Valiero  looked  at  him  earnestly,  as  though  not 
quite  understanding  him. 

"  You  mean  tliat  you  will  help  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I've  got  an  idea,"  said  Memmo.  "  I've 
been  thinking  over  it  for  some  time,  and  I  may  as 
well  mention  it  now.  You  see  our  connection  thus 
far  has  been  of  a  purely  business  character." 

"  Yes,"  said  Valiero. 

"  Well,  we  might  place  our  connection  upon  a 
different  footing." 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  3^ou,"  said  V.»Iiero, 
with  a  look  of  surprise.  He  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  what  Memmo's  meaning  could  be. 

"  You  have  a  son,"  continued  Memmo. 

**  Yes,"  said  Valiero,  still  in  the  same  state  of 
surprise. 

"  I  have  a  daughter,"  said  Memmo,  and  then 
hesitated. 


THE   money-lender's   PLOT.  141 

«  What  of  that  ?  "  said  Yaliero.  "  What  has  that 
to  do  with  my  business." 

"  This,"  said  Memmo.  "  Listen.  Ruin  is  before 
you,  and  poverty,  and  despair.  You  can  never  sur- 
vive your  fortunes.  You  i  ive  fallen  too  far.  Now 
all  this  may  be  avoided  by  the  marriage  of  your 
son  with  my  daughter." 

For  a  few  moments  Yaliero  stared  in  silence,  as 
though  unable  to  credit  the  proposal. 

"  Your  daughter  ! "  he  said,  at  length.  "  My 
Bon  !  married  !     Why,  man,  are  you  mad  ?  " 

The  tone  with  which  Yaliero  spoke  was  worse 
than  the  words.  It  was  the  tone  which  might  be 
assumed  by  some  superior  being.  The  prospect  of 
ruin  had  not  diminished  Yaliero's  pride,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  regarded  Memmo's  proposal  with 
unutterable  scorn  and  indignation,  as  a  piece  of 
unwarrantable  insolence  and  presumption.  Memmo 
said  not  a  word,  but  the  fierce  passion  within  him 
made  his  heart  throb  fast  and  furious;  and  if  he 
did  not  speak,  it  was  because  he  found  no  words 
that  could  express  his  feelings. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  continued  Yaliero, 
with  a  laugh  of  scorn.  "  We  nobles  can  meet  ruin 
if  it  comes  —  and  poverty  —  yes,  and  despair  —  for 
all  these  are  sent  b}^  Providence,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing left  but  submission  and  brave  endurance  ;  but 
to  stoop  to  dishonor,  to  soil  our  family  name,  to 
damn  our  posterity  by  a  mesalliance  !  0,  my  good 
man  1  is  it  possible  that  you  have  lived  in  Yenice, 


142  THE  WINGED   LION. 

and  can  make   this  proposal  to  a  Valiero  ?     Wliy, 
you're  mad." 

With  those  words,  Valiero  retired,  leaving 
Memmo  furious.  The  insult,  the  scorn,  the  abuse, 
all  were  intolerable.  lie  had  but  one  thought  — 
vengeance.  lie  would  press  his  claims  at  once. 
He  would  crush  Valiero  in  the  dust.  He  would 
show  no  mercy,  nor  would  he  ever  repeat  the 
offbr. 

Memmo  had  been  very  confident  in  his  maxim, 
that  when  ill  luck  fastens  upon  a  man  it  never 
leaves  him  ;  but  he  was  destined  to  find  it  untrue. 
For  after  all,  though  Valiero's  difficulties  had  been 
great,  still  his  resources  were  immense,  and  it  was 
hardly  possible  that  out  of  his  vast  wealth,  which 
was  afloat  at  sea,  he  should  receive  nothing.  The 
fact  was,  he  received  it  all.  The  ships  liad  been 
delayed  in  various  ways  ;  but  a  few  days  after  his 
interview  with  Memmo  one  of  them  arrived  ;  and 
afterwards  others  came,  arriving  one  by  one,  until 
at  last  all  had  reached  port,  bringing  with  them 
cargoes  of  immense  value.  Valiero's  difficulties 
all  vanished,  and  for  the  risk  ho  had  run  ho  re- 
ceived corresponding^profits. 

All  this  sank  deep  into  Memmo's  soul.  Valiero 
was  now  completely  out  of  his  power,  and  more- 
over far  beyond  his  reach.  Yet  he  still  cherished  his 
desire  for  vengeance,  and  resolved  to  watch  with 
sleepless  vigilance  for  some  chance  to  gratify  this 
desire.     But  first  of  all  he  sought  out  Valiero,  and 


THE   money-lender's   PLOT.  143 

mudo  a  most  abject  apology.  With  great  apparent 
frankness  he  owned  up  all.  lie  said  that  he  thouglit 
him  ruined — was  resolved  to  help  him  —  but  at 
the  same  time,  from  foolish  fondness  for  his  daugh- 
ter, made  the  proposal.  A  common  man  like  him- 
self, he  said,  did  not  understand  the  feelings  of  the 
nobility.  For  himself,  lie  was  only  a  plain  and  sim- 
ple man,  and  if  ho  had  olTended,  it  was  uninten- 
tional, and  was  only  owing  to  foolish  parental  fond- 
ness. To  all  this  Vaiiero  listened  most  gracious- 
ly. His  prosperity  made  him  condescending  and 
affable. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  he.  "  Say  no  more.  I  shall 
only  remember  the  help  you  gave  mo  ;  and  mark 
you,  Memmo,  I  believe  you  are  an  honest  man,  for 
you  did  not  cliarge  half  so  much  as  you  might." 

"  Heaven  save  me  from  taking  usury,''  said 
Memmo.  "  What  profits  I  make  I  come  by  hon- 
estly." 

After  this,  Memmo  was  treated  by  Vaiiero  with 
much  kindness  and  confidence.  The  explanation, 
so  humbly  made,  had  smoothed  away  all  difficulties, 
and  effaced  every  unpleasant  recollection.  The 
business  connection  remained,  although  now  it  was 
Memmo  who  appeared  to  solicit  favors,  and  who 
made  all  the  advances.  He  was  keeping  Vaiiero 
in  view,  and  watching  all  his  acts  so  as  to  find 
something  of  which  he  might  avail  himself  in  his 
efforts  after  revenge.  At  length  his  vigilance  was 
rewarded,  for  an  event  happened  which  was  the 
very  thing  that  he  desired. 


144  THE  WINGEu   LION. 

There  was  a  certain  French  noble,  the  Count 
de  Ligny,  with  whom  Valicro  had  formed  a  close 
friendship  in  early  youth,  when  Pc  Ligny  had  been 
on  the  ambassador's  suite  at  Venice.  Afterwards 
VaHero  had  visited  France,  and  the  two  liad  kept 
up  their  friendship  ever  since.  It  happened  that  a 
conspiracy  had  been  discovered  by  the  French 
King  Louis  XL,  in  which  Do  Ligny  was  implicated  ; 
but  on  receiving  notice  from  his  friends,  the  noble 
escaped  the  king's  wrath,  and  fled  from  France. 
On  reaching  Italy,  he  sought  refuge  with  his  friend 
Valiero,  at  Venice.  King  Louis  received  informa- 
tion of  this,  and  at  once  sent  a  demand  to  the  Ve- 
netian government  for  the  surrender  of  the  fugi- 
tive. The  Venetian  government  promised  to  make 
a  search  for  him,  and  if  he  were  in  their  dominions, 
to  deliver  him  up,  which  promise  came  to  the  ears 
of  Valiero,  and  made  him  anxious  to  send  his  friend 
out  of  danger. 

Assistance  was  necessary  in  "^is  matter,  and 
no  one  seemed  so  well  able  to  give  the  requisite 
help  as  the  honest  and  simple  Memmo.  To  Memmo, 
therefore,  he  applied ;  and  that  worth}^,  with  the 
aifectation  of  deep  sympathy,  promised  to  find  a 
vessel  and  go  himself  with  De  Ligny  to  Ancona. 
Valiero  was  deeply  grateful,  and  Memmo  at  once 
Bet  out  to  provide  the  means  of  escape.  The  prep- 
arations were  hurriedly  made,  and  before  twenty- 
four  hours  had  passed,  De  Ligny  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  danger.  Memmo  returned,  and  Valiero's 
gratitude  could  scarce  find  words. 


THE   MONEY-LENDEK'S   PLOT.  145 

That  vcr}^  day,  Mommo  dropped  into  tlio  "  Lion's 
Mouth  "  information  against  Valioro,  for  harboring 
the  rebol  Do  Ligny,  and  sending  hira  away  to  An- 
cona,  in  spite  of  the  Venetian  government. 

It  was  a  serious  cliarge.  The  Venetians  were 
anxious,  above  all  things,  to  keep  on  friendly  terms 
with  France,  and  had  hoped  very  earnestly  to  be 
able  to  gratify  this  wish  of  King  Louis.  Valiero 
was  tlierefore  arrested,  and  his  family  was  plunged 
into  an  abyss  of  des[)air.  The  loss  of  the  head 
of  that  family  was  terrible,  but  beyond  this  there 
was  a  series  of  calamities — the  torture  of  their 
loved  father  —  the  condemnation  and  degradation 
—  the  confiscation  of  his  property  —  poverty, 
shame,  and  despair.  All  these  calamities  lowered 
before  them,  and  crushed  them  ir.to  tlie  dust. 
These  same  things  were  in  the  mind  of  Memmo, 
and  in  all  the  glow  of  gratified  pride  he  exulted  in 
his  revenge,  and  had  to  seek  out  Vaiicro's  fixmily  in 
order  to  feast  his  eyes  upon  their  grief.  The  only 
one  of  the  family  whom  ho  could  see  was  Marco, 
the  son  of  Valiero,  the  very  one  to  wl^om  he  had 
once  proposed  to  marry  his  daughter.  The  exulta- 
tion of  Memmo  made  him  forget  his  usual  caution ; 
and  Marco,  who  had  at  first  expected  to  find  sym- 
pathy, and  perhaps  the  humble  offer  of  assistance, 
was  horrified  at  finding  him  transformed  to  an  open 
enemy,  whose  coarse  and  brutal  triumph  was  dis- 
played without  any  attempt  at  concealment. 

"  Aha  !  "  he  said ;  "  so  he's  gone  !    I've  heard  all 
10 


146  THE  WINGED   LTON. 

about  it.  Now  be  knows  tbat  a  Yenotian  noble  is 
not  a  god.  Now  he  may  know  what  it  is  to  sufl'er 
degradation,  and  to  feel  wbat  be  bas  made  me  feel 
r—  sbame,  and  bumiliation,  and  despair." 

"  Of  wbom  are  you  speaking  ?  "  asked  Marco. 

"  Of  your  fatber,"  said  Memmo ;  "  your  fatber  in 
the  jpiomhi,''^ 

The  hot  blood  mounted  to  Marco's  brow,  but 
he  repressed  bis  feelings.  For  quick  as  tbouglit 
there  came  into  bis  mind  a  strange  suspicion,  which, 
when  it  had  once  come,  grew  stronger.  Master- 
ing, therefore,  bis  emotion,  he  said  in  a  slow  and 
self-contained  maimer,  — 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  my  fatber  had  done  you 
wrong." 

"  Wrong !  He  did  me  outrageous  wrong,"  said 
Memmo  ;  *'•  wrongs  never  to  be  forgotten.  Never 
shall  I  forgive  him,  as  he  stood  with  his  haughty 
face,  and  crushed  me  into  the  dust." 

"  I  thought  you  were  bis  friend,"  said  Marco,  in 
the  same  tone. 

"  His  frier  ^  I "  said  Memmo.  ''  Ah  !  so^you  did  ; 
so  did  be ;  he  thought  me  his  friend,  too ;  but  no ;  I 
had  my  wrongs  to  avenge,  and  I  was  waiting  for 
my  opportunity." 

"  Wrongs  !  "  said  Marco.  "  What  wrongs  were 
they  ?  ''  .-_--—.  -^  _-..-_.. 

Upon  this,  Memmo  poured  forth  the  whole  story 
with  astonishing  volubility  and  passion,  interrupt- 
ing it  with  a  running  fire  of  exclamations  and  exe- 


THE  money-lender's  PLOT.  147 

orations.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Marco  had 
heard  of  this.  He  knew  Memmo's  daughter,  and 
almost  smiled  at  the  thought  of  such  a  wife.  For 
she  was  well  known  among  the  golden  youth  of 
Venice,  especially  those  fast  young  men  who  did 
business  with  Memmo,  and  generally  went  by  ti^e 
nickname  of  the  "  Golden  Fleece,"  perhaps  because 
at  her  father's  house  they  were  fleeced  out  of  their 
gold.  But  it  was  not  the  time  for  smiles.  The 
"  Golden  Fleece  "  was  soon  forgotten.  The  dark 
suspicion  which  had  occurred  grew  stronger  and 
stronger,  and  every  word  of  Memmo's  only  served 
to  confirm  it. 

"  If  my  father,"  said  he,  in  a  haughty  tone,  "  had 
been  so  base  as  to  consent  to  such  a  thing,  he 
would  have  found  that  my  consent  had  also  to  be 
obtained." 

"  Aha  !  "  said  Memmo  ;  "  is  that  so  ;  and  is  that 
your  way,  my  young  Lord  of  Glory  ?  " 

"  Peace  !  "  said  Marco.  ^'Look  here,  old  Memmo. 
I  have  let  you  have  full  swing,  and  now  a  word 
with  you.  Don't  boast  so  much  ;  don't  talk  about 
the  Piazza ;  for,  hark  you,  I  know  who  took  the 
Count  de  Ligny  to  Ancona  ! " 

At  this  Memmo's  face  grew  livid.  He  stared 
at  Marco  as  though  suddenly  struck  dumb.  Then 
he  said,  in  a  faltering  voice, — 

''Who?"  .,;-.-,     --       , - 

"  You,"  said  Marco  ;  "  my  father  told  me  all.'^ 
"  He  —  he  —  said  —  that  he  would  tell  no  one," 
said  Memmo,  in  a  scarce  audible  voice. 


148  THE  WINGED  LION. 

"  Of  course ;  but  ho  would  naturally  except  me, 
for  he  never  kept  any  secrets  from  me." 

Memmo  seemed  utterly  overwhelmed.  He  had 
confidently  believed  that  the  secrei;  of  De  Ligny's 
escape  was  known  only  to  himself  and  Valiero. 
He  had  thought  that  Yaliero  had  kept  it  secret 
even  from  his  own  family.  Of  Marco  he  had  never 
thought  at  all.  He  had  seemed  a  shallow  youth, 
intent  only  on  fashion  or  pleasure.  Now  he  made 
the  appalling  discovery  that  this  Marco  was  his 
father  over  again — with  a  keener  vision,  a  stronger 
nature,  and  a  deeper  purpose  than  that  father  had 
ever  known  ;  and  that  he  had  read  his  thoughts,  >, 
and  saw  him  through  and  through.  In  that  young 
but  stern  face  there  seemed  not  a  trace  of  mercy ; 
and  in  looking  upon  it  Memmo  seemed  to  be  read- 
ing his  doom.  '■ 

"  0,  my  dear,  O,  my  dear,"  he  said,  confusedly. 
"  It  was  all  a  jest.  I  was  your  father's  dear  friend ; 
it  was  all  a  jest ;  a  jest,  you  know.  Old  Memmo 
must  have  his  jest." 

Marco  turned  away  abruptly.  Memmo  called 
after  him,  and  tried  to  detain  him.  In  vain.  Marco 
shook  him  off.  Then  Memmo  went  home  with  a 
sense  of  impending  ruin  that  filled  him  with  de- 
spair. - 

As  for  Marco,  all  was  plain  to  him,  and  he  has- 
tened to  do  the  only  thing  that  was  in  his  power. 
He  hastened  to  the  Ducal  Palace,  and  there 
dropped  into  the  Lion's  Mouth  his  charge  against 
Memmo. 


THE   money-lender's   PLOT.  149 

Memrno  was  just  beginning  to  rally  from  his 
first  stupor  of  despair,  and  to  think  wildly  of  flight, 
when  he  was  arrested  by  the  awful  messengers  of 
the  government.  After  this,  but  little  remains  to  be 
told.  On  the  rack  the  wretched  Memmo  revealed 
all.  The  government  chose  to  consider  him  the 
more  guilty.  Valiero  was  set  free,  since  his  offence 
was  the  act  of  loyal  friendship ;  but  Memmo  was 
punished,  since  his  offence  had  been  committed 
from  the  motives  of  avarice,  jealousy,  and  treach- 
ery. Had  he  been  a  principal  in  the  act,  his  prop- 
erty would  have  been  confiscated ;  but  as  he  was 
only  an  agent,  the  government  contented  them- 
selves with  imposing  a  fine  which  did  not  amount 
to  more  than  nine  tenths  of  all  that  he  had.  In 
addition  to  this,  they  banished  him  for  life  ;  and  so 
Memmo,  taking  what  little  there  was  left,  departed 
with  the  "  Golden  Fleece  "  to  another  and  a  kinder 
country. 

After  some  conversation  upon  the  incidents  of 
the  story,  Vernon  showed  them  another  painting. 
This  one  was  quite  different  from  the  last. 

The  scene  was  on  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark.  The 
central  figure  was  a  young  girl  of  exquisite  beauty. 
This  beauty  was  of  a  strange.  Oriental  cast,  and 
was  heightened  by  her  costume,  which  was  Turk- 
ish. Her  beautiful  face  was  full  of  mingled  inno- 
cence and  anxious  eagerness  ;  she  seemed  to  be  in 
search  of  something.     A  crowd  was  around  her, 


150  THE   WINGED   LION. 

who  appeared  to  bo  trying  by  means  of  signs  to 
communicate  with  the  lovely  stranger ;  but  her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  something  in  the  distance,  with  a 
pathetic  and  wistful  inquiry. 

"  You  can  make  out  nothing  from  that  picture," 
said  Vernon. 

"  I  can,"  said  Gracie. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  tells  its  own  story,"  said  Gracie.  "  Your 
pictures  speak,  Mr.  Vernon.  This  lovely  Turk  tells 
me  that  she  has  come  to  Venice  in  search  of  her 
lover ;  and  here,  amid  all  this  crowd  in  the  Piazza 
she  is  trying  to  find  him." 

Vernon  looked  at  Gr?vcie  for  a  moment  in  silent 
admiration.  • 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  he,  "  that  I  ever  saw  any 
one  like  you  —  in  all  my  life  —  I  wish  —  but  no 
matter  —  shall  I  read  the  storv  ?  " 

"  0,  yes  —  do,  by  all  means." 

"  It  is  the  story  of  Fatimja,"  said  Vernon,  who 
then  went  on  and  read  from  his  manuscript. 


THE   STORY   OF   FATIMA.  151 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  Story  of  Fathna, 

/j\\  LFEO  MANFRINI  was  the  commander 
^feyW,  of  a  galley  in  the  Venetian  fleet  that  was 
4^^  despatched  to  the  East  with  re-enforce- 
ments and  supplies  for  the  relief  of  the  garrison 
at  Scio.  During  the  voyage  a  storm  arose,  and 
the  fleet  was  scattered.  When  it  had  passed  over, 
Manfrini  found  himself  alone  upon  the  deep,  with 
not  a  single  sail  visible  anywhere.  He  kept  on 
his  course,  however,  as  before,  hoping  to  fall  in 
again  with  his  friends,  and  at  length  saw  sails  in 
the  distance,  which  he  supposed  to  belong  to  the 
fleet  that  he  was  seeking.  Towards  this  he  hur- 
ried as  fast  as  possible,  and  b  ^me  of  these,  on  see- 
ing him,  bore  down  upon  him.  But  for  Manfrini 
there  was  a  dreadful  disappointment.  As  the  ships 
drew  near,  he  perceived,  to  his  horror,  that  they 
were  not  Venetian,  but  Turkish.  He  had  flung 
himself  into  the  midst  of  his  worst  enemies.  To 
fight  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  as  that  meant  utter 
destruction ;  to  fly  was  impossible,  yet  it  was  the 
only  course  open,  and  he  tried  it.  The  attempt, 
however,  was  all  in  vain.  The  enemy  rapidly  over- 
hauled him,  and  at  length  he  was  captured. 


152  THE  WINGED   LION. 

He  was  conveyed  to  Constantinople,  and  after 
a  time  fell  into  tlie  hands  of  a  wealthy  Turk  who 
lived  near  Scutari.  He  was  taken  here  by  his 
new  master,  and  found  himself  on  an  extensive 
estate,  where  there  were  many  other  slaves,  over 
whom  was  an  aged  Turk  of  severe  aspect  and 
morose  manner.  The  master  left  the  whole  man- 
agement of  the  slaves  to  this  overseer,  whose  name 
was  Kaled,  which  said  Kaled,  after  mme  examina- 
tion of  Manfrini,  placed  him  in  the  garden  to  assist 
in  the  work  that  went  on  there.  The  work  was 
not  hard,  and  Kaled  did  not  seem  to  expect  much 
from  the  new  slave  ;  but  Manfrini  could  not  forget 
his  beloved  native  land,  and  often  and  often  the 
ground  where  he  worked  was  wet  with  his  tears. 

Manfrini  was  left  very  much  to  himself.  Kaled 
made  the  garden  his  peculiar  care,  and  directed 
Manfrini  about  his  daily  task.  It  was  the  custom 
of  Kaled,  after  his  daily  instructions,  to  retire,  and 
leave  Manfrini  alone.  The  place  to  which  his  work 
was  directed  was  a  plot  of  ground  immediately 
under  the  north  end  of  the  villa,  and  here  Manfrini 
used  to  pass  his  time.  There  was  a  low  basement 
with  a  window,  over  which  was  another  window 
looking  out  upon  him. 

Here  Manfrini  was  one  day  at  work  alone  ;  and 
feeling  weary,  he  sat  down,  and  burjnng  his  face 
in  his  hands,  began  to  weep.  In  the  midst  of  his 
mournful  thoughts  and  his  wretched  homesickness, 
his  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  low  sigh.     Hastily  he 


THE   STORY   OF   FATIMA.  153 

looked  up.  There,  at  the  window  just  above  him, 
he  saw  a  beautiful  face.  It  was  a  young  girl,  and 
her  large  dark  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with 
earnest  solicitude,  while  upon  her  sweet  face  there 
was  an  expression  of  tenderest  sympathy.  It  was 
all  taken  in  with  a  momentary  glance,  for  no  sooner 
had  he  looked  up  than  the  sweet  face  vanished. 

Manfrini  stood  for  some  time  staring  at  the  win- 
dow, half  thinking  that  it  was  all  a  dream.  The 
window  there,  open,  without  lattice,  was  now  only 
a  blank ;  yet  a  short  time  before  it  had  been  like  a 
framework  to  the  loveliest  and  sweetest  face  that 
ever  his  eyes  had  rested  on.  Who  was  she  ? 
"Where  had  slie  gone  ?  Would  she  ever  come 
again  ?  All  thouglits  of  home,  all  feelings  of 
homesickness,  now  fled  away,  and  he  could  think 
of  nothing  but  the  lovely  vision.  He  felt  that  it 
must  be  real.  He  could  also  guess  who  it  might 
be.  Old  Kaled  had  muttered  something  about  the 
lady  Fatima,  his  master's  daughter ;  and  Manfrini 
had  picked  up  enough  of  Turkish  to  understand 
common  words.  Fatima,  the  master's  daughter  I 
Was  this  Fatima?  and  did  Fatima  feel  pity  for 
him,  the  wretched  captive  ?  He  longed  to  make 
some  communication  to  her ;  to  show  her  how 
sweet  such  pity  was.  But  how  ?  There  was  only 
one  way  —  a  harmless  way,  too.  These  flowers  that 
grew  around  afforded  a  language  of  their  own  quite 
as  intelligible  as  speech.  Manfrini  knew  that  lan- 
guage, and  he  had  heard  that  it  was  invented  in 


154  THE  WINGED  LION. 

the  East,  in  which  case  Fatima  doubtless  knew  it 
as  well  as  himself.  So  he  gathered  a  small  bunch 
which  held  these  flowers  —  the  Camellia  Japonica, 
meaning  "  My  destiny  is  in  your  hands ;  "  the  Cross 
of  Jerusalem,  "  Devotio7i;  "  the  Laurustine,  ^^  I  die 
if  neglected;  "  and  the  Pansy,  "  Think  of  mey       "^ 

This  bunch  he  laid  on  the  window,  and  then 
awaited  the  result. 

Evening  came,  and  he  had  to  leave.  He  was 
full  of  curiosity  as  to  how  his  little  offering  would 
be  received,  and  full  of  recollections  of  that  sweet 
vision.  The  next  day  came,  and  once  more  he  was 
taken  to  the  garden,  and  Kaled  gave  his  directions 
and  left.  He  now  worked  for  some  hours,  keeping 
his  eyes  on  the  window,  in  hopes  of  seeing  some- 
thing. Nothing,  however,  appeared.  He  began 
to  feel  dejected.  The  lovely  Fatima  had  not  seen 
his  offering,  or  had  been  offended.  Such  were  his 
thoughts. 

He  was  working  under  the  window  in  a  dejected 
mood,  when  suddenly  a  bunch  of  flowers  fell  im- 
mediately before  him.  He  grasped  it,  and  looked 
up.  No  one  was  there.  He  looked  at  the  flowers. 
The  first  glance  showed  him  that  they  formed  an 
answer  to  his  own  offering. 

They  were  these:  The  Snowdrop,  ^^ Consolation;^^ 
the  Scarlet  Ipomoea,  "  /  attach  myself  to  you  ;  "  and 
a  spray  of  the  Arbor  Vitse,  "  Live  for  me." 

Manfrini  was  now  full  of  joy  and  hope.  The 
lovely  Fatiula  thought  of  him.     Perhaps  he  might 


THE  STORY   OP  PATIMA.  155 

see  her  again ;  perhaps  the  time  might  come  when 
he  could  speak  to  her.  But  for  the  present  he 
must  content  himself  with  the  flowers.  He  now 
made  up  another  bunch,  and  placed  it  on  the  win- 
dow. 

One  flower  was  the  Lily  of  the  Valley,  "  My  hap- 
piness has  returned ;  "  another,  the  Sweet  Sultan, 
"  /  rejoice ;  "  another,  the  Dahlia,  "  I  am  thine  for^ 
ever;  "  and  to  these  he  added  the  sweet  little  ^^ For- 
get-me-not.''^ 

This  bunch  he  placed  on  the  window  and  waited ; 
but  for  some  time  there  was  no  response,  and  he 
had  to  console  himself  with  those  first  flowers, 
which  he  treasured  next  his  heart. 

At  length  one  day,  after  Kaled  had  gone,  Man- 
frini  saw  the  well-remembered  face.  She  smiled 
sweetly  and  sadly,  then  vanished.  This  was  some- 
thing. It  showed  that  she  might  come  again.  That 
smile  was  like  sunshine,  and  cheered  Manfrini  all 
the  day.  At  length  towards  evening,  just  before 
his  time  for  retiring,  the  face  appeared  again.  He 
started  forward  with  clasped  hands,  in  an  attitude 
of  entreaty.     This  time  the  face  did  not  vanish. 

The  window  was  low,  and  but  a  few  inches  above 
Manfrini's  head. 

"  O,"  he  murmured,  in  his  faltering  Turkish,  "  do 
not  go  ;  let  me  see  you  a  moment." 

A  flush  passed  over  the  lovely  face  of  Fatima, 
and  her  eyes  drooped,  hidden  under  the  long  silken 
fringe  of  eyelashes. 


156  •   THE  WINGED   LION. 

"  Your  face,"  said  Manfrini,  "  is  like  sunlight. 
When  you  go,  all  is  dark  to  me.  Will  you  speak, 
and  let  mo  hear  your  sweet  voice  ?  '^ 

"  Alfeo  !  "  said  Fatima,  in  a  low,  timid  voice.  It 
was  his  Christian  name  —  the  name  by  which  he 
was  known  here,  for  the  Turks  found  it  easier  to 
pronounce  than  Manfrini. 

"  Fatima ! "  said  Manfrini.  He  drew  nearer. 
Her  little  hand  was  resting  on  the  window-sill. 
Ho  pressed  it  in  his. 

From  that  time  fo7th  not  a  day  passed  on  which 
Manfrini  did  not  see  Fatima  and  speak  to  her. 
There  was  no  one  to  watch  them.  Old  Kaled 
seemed  to  have  other  things  to  attend  to ;  and  as 
for  Fatima,  she  was  able  to  elude  any  observation 
or  suspicion  within  the  household.  Manfrini  had 
a  great  motive  now  for  mastering  the  Turkish  lan- 
guage, and  made  rapid  progress  under  so  sweet  a 
teacher. 

'*  Are  you  happy  here  ?  "  asked  Fatima,  one  day. 

"  So  long  as  1  may  hope  to  see  you,"  said  Man- 
frini, "  I  am  happy.     I  want  no  more." 

"  But  you  are  a  slave,"  said  Fatima.  *'  In  your 
own  country  you  are  a  noble.  If  you  embraced 
Islam  you  might  be  a  noble  here." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Manfrini  j  "  but  that  is  impos- 
sible." -^^        „-__-..--...       ..-_-__.,. 

"  Then  you  must  escape,"  said  Fatima. 
**  Escape  I  "  said  Manfrini ;  and  at  the  thought  a 
thrill  of  joy  passed  through  him ;  but  a  moment 


THE   STORY   OP   FATIMA,  157 

after  it  was  followed  by  despondency.  "  No,  no/' 
said  ho ;  "  it  is  impossible.  Besides,  so  long  as  you 
are  here,  this  slavery  is  sweeter  than  liberty  with- 
out you." 

Tears  started  to  Fatima's  eyes.  She  smiled,  and 
then  said,  in  a  low  and  tremulous  voice,  — 

"  If  you  could  escape  —  would  you  ?  " 

"  And  leave  you  I "  said  Manfrini,  reproachfully. 

"  Would  you  take  me  ?  "  whispered  Fatima. 

*^  0  Heavens  !  "  said  Manfrini ;  "  would  you  ?  Do 
you  mean  it?  Could  you  give  up  your  liome,  and 
incur  the  danger  —  the  j)oril  of  flight  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  tliinking  of  it,"  said  Fatima,  gently. 

Manfrini  seized  her  hand,  and  covered  it  with 
kisses. 

"  Listen,"  said  Fatima.  "  I  have  been  planning 
this  ever  since  I  first  saw  you.  There  is  a  fisher- 
man here  devoted  to  me.  I  liave  spoken  with 
him.  It  is  all  arranged.  So  soon  as  you  are  ready 
to  start,  you  can  go."  .    ' 

At  this  Manfrini  was  again  overwhelmed. 

"  Go  I  Escape  ! "  he  faltered.  "  But  you  I  will 
you  let  me  go?  and  do  you  think  I  can  leave  you?" 

"  You  need  not  leave  me,"  said  Fatima,  "  if  you 
will  take  mo.  And  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that 
you  do  not  want  to  leave  me." 

"  Leave  you  I "  said  Manfrini.  "  To  lose  you 
would  be  worse  than  death.  You  have  made  me 
forget  my  country.  You  are  all  the  world  to  me. 
I  would  rather  be  with  you  —  a  slave  —  than  be 


■'i 


158  THE   WINGED   LION, 

free,  if  I  had  to  lose  you.  O,  then,  if  you  have  the 
courage  to  do  it,  come  with  mc ;  lot  us  fly.  You 
shall  bo  as  rich  and  as  honored  as  you  are  now,  if 
wo  only  escape  ;  and  all  my  life  shall  be  spent  in 
the  oilbrt  to  make  you  happy." 

"  I  holiovo  every  word  tliat  you  say,"  said  Fati- 
ma,  simply,  "  and  your  words  ^re  very  sweet  to 
mo.  Yes,  I  will  go,  Alfco  ;  and  for  you  I  will  give 
up  father  and  mother,  and  country  and  friends,  and 
religio]!,  too,  Alfeo.  I  will  give  up  all  for  you. 
And  I  have  made  all  the  arrangements.  And  my 
father  is  awav  now,  so  that  we  can  leave  with  less 
danger." 

A  long  conversation  followed,  in  which  Fatima 
explained  the  whole  plan  which  she  had  made. 
She  iiad  seen  that  Manfi'ini  would  remain  a  miser- 
able slave  till  he  died,  nor  could  he  ever  be  more 
than  a  slave  to  her,  unless  he  could  escape ;  but  in 
his  native  land  he  would  be  rich  and  noble.  She 
had  deliberately  chosen  to  give  up  all  for  his  sake, 
preferring  by  this  venture  to  be  his  wife  at  Venice, 
rather  than  his  master's  daughter  at  Scutari.  She 
had  bribed  a  fisherman,  who  was  prepared  to  take 
them  to  the  Morea,  whence  they  could  go  to 
Venice  ;  and  for  funds  to  support  them  on  the 
way,  she  had  her  jewels.  Finally,  immediate  ac- 
tion was  necessary,  so  as  to  leave  before  her 
father's  return.  It  was  arranged,  therefore,  that 
they  should  leave  on  the  following  evening.  The 
fisherman  should  come  for  Manfrini,  and  Fatima 
would  join  them  as  soon  as  possible. 


THE  STORY   OP   FATIMA.  159 

That  night  Maiifrini  could  not  sleep.  Before 
him  was  the  prospect  of  escape,  of  home,  friends, 
honors,  of  Fatima,  without  whom  all  else  would  bo 
poor  indeed.  Morning  came,  and  ho  went  to  his 
work.  Once  or  twice  ho  saw  Fatima's  face  at  the 
window ;  but  she  only  staid  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  with  a  warning  gesture,  withdrew.  Manfrini 
hoped  to  have  the  opportunity  of  speaking  with 
her,  but  tliis  was  eclipsed  by  the  greater  hope  of 
flying  witli  her  from  these  hostile  shores. 

Old  Kaled  that  'day  did  not  leave  at  his  usual 
time.  On  the  contrarv,  ho  busied  himself  in  the 
garden  until  dark.  Once  or  twice  Fatima  appeared 
at  the  window,  but  she  saw  Kaled  and  retreated. 
Manfrini  was  troubled  at  this.  It  was  unfortunate, 
and  looked  as  though  Kaled  had  done  it  inten- 
tionally. At  length  it  was  dark,  and  the  old  Turk 
came  up  to  him.  , 

"  Follow  me,"  said  he,  in  his  usual  rough  tone. 

Manfrini  was  startled  at  this,  and  followed  Kaled 
full  of  dark  forebodings.  The  old  Turk  led  the 
way,  and  went  out  into  the  road,  and  down  towards 
the  shore,  which  was  not  far  away.  Here  there 
was  a  boat. 

"  Get  in,"  said  he,  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

Manfrini  did  so,  wondering  what  it  all  meant. 
His  only  thought  was,  that  his  project  had  been 
discovered,  and  that  he  was  being  taken  away  to 
death  —  that  secret  and  terrible  death  by  bow- 
string, with  which  the  Turks  were  wont  to  punish 


160  THE  WINGED  LION. 

those  wretched  slaves  who  had  incurred  their  dis- 
pleasure. A  wild  thought  of  resistance  came  to 
him ;  but  he  was  unarmed,  and  Kaled  was  armed. 
He  therefore  obeyed  in  silence,  yet  in  despair. 

Kaled  pushed  off  the  boat,  and  taking  the  helm, 
ordered  Manfrini  to  hoist  the  sail.  Manfrini  did 
so.  The  sail  caught  the  favoring  wind,  and  the 
boat,  shooting  out  from  the  bay,  went  far  away 
over  the  waters.  , 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  asked  Manfrini  at  last, 
imable  to  repress  the  impatience  and  anxiety  with 
which  he  was  tortured. 

"  Peace,  slave,"  said  Kaled,  sternly,  "  and  obey 
my  commands." 

Manfrini  subsided  into  silence,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  despairing  thoughts.  Yes,  all  was  plain  ;  he 
had  been  discovered.  The  crafty  Kaled  had  come 
to  punish  him,  and  was  now  taking  him  to  death. 
As  for  Fatima,  she  was  lost  forever. 

Hour  after  hour  passed.  Sleep  was  impossible. 
The  stern  Kaled  sat  as  rigid  as  stone  at  the  helm, 
and  Manfrini's  des].  Iring  thoughts  of  Fatima  were 
intermingled  with  wondering  conjectures  as  to  his 
destination.  .  It  was  with  such  feelings  as  these 
that  ho  passed  the  night,  for  all  that  night  the 
boat  sped  over  the  waves,  borne  by  a  favoring 
breeze  ;  and  when  the  sun  rose,  Manfrini  looked 
around,  and  saw  nothing  but  a  wide  expanse  of 
water,  with  low  lines  here  and  there  on  the  hori- 
zon, marking  the  presence  of  distant  shores. 


THE   STORY    OP   FATIMA.  161 

Kale ''.  pushed  a  box  towards  Manfrini. 

"  Eat/'  said  he,  pointing  to  tlie  box.  " 

Manfrini  shook  liis  head  and  turned  away.  He 
had  reached  the  extreme  verge  of  despair.  Fati- 
ma  was  lost.  Tliis  fierce  old  Turk  had  brought 
him  for  many  a  mile  out  into  the  sea.  For  what  ? 
For  some  fresh  captivity  ?  If  that  was  so,  he 
would  not  submit.  Better  a  brief  struggle  here, 
even  if  he  should  perish,  than  a  lingering  captivity 
in  Smyrna  or  Alexandria.  To  make  a  sudden  spring 
upon  that  old  man  seemed  an  easy  tin'ng.  True,  he 
was  armed,  but  he  might  be  taken  unawares. 

"  I  think  I  will  take  some  food,"  said  Manfrini, 
quietly. 

He  drew  nearer  to  Kaled,  and  as  he  opened  the 
lid  of  the  box,  watched  the  old  man  with  cautious 
sidelong  glances.  The  Turk  did  not  notice  him.  He 
was  looking  at  vacancy  with  an  abstracted  face,  — 
the  face  of  one  who  was  buried  in  his  own  thoughts, 
—  and  saw  nothing  of  the  world  around. 

Suddenly,  with  a  bound,  Manfrini  had  flung  him- 
self upon  Kaled,  with  one  hand  on  his  throat,  and 
the  other  on  the  pistol  in  his  belt.  The  next  in- 
stant Kaled  lay  on  his  back  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  and  Manfrini,  with  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol 
pressed  against  his  forehead,  cried,  — 

"  Villain,  I  have  you  now  !     You  must  die  !    But 
tell  me  how  you  found  out  our  plan ;  and  tell  mo 
what  has  become  of  Fatima.     If  you  wish  to  live, 
11 


162  THE  WINGED   LION. 

speak  tiie  truth.  If  I  detect  one  single  lie,  I  will 
blow  your  brains  out."  '  v: 

Killed  gasped  for  breath.  Then  he  spoke,  and 
as  he  spoke,  every  word  thrilled  through  the  in- 
most heart  of  Manfrini. 

"  0,  signer,  forgive  me  for  what  I  have  done.  I 
am  a  Venetian.     I  am  trying  to  escape. '' 

These  words  were  spoken  in  Italian  with  the 
Venetian  accent,  and  at  their  sound  the  passion 
and  the  fury  of  Manfrini  all  passed  away.  Amaze- 
ment overwhelmed  him,  and  all  his  soul  was  moved 
to  its  inmost  depths  by  the  sound  of  that  loved 
Italian  speech,  to  which  ho  had  so  long  been  a 
stranger.  He  started  back,  the  pistol  dropped 
from  his  hand.  He  raised  the  aged  man  with 
tender  hands  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  in 
a  voice  which  was  tremulous  with  agitation,  he 
gasped  forth,  —  ,   . 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  your  countryman.  Forgive  me,"  said  the 
other.     . 

"  But  you  are  a  Turk  —  a  Mohammedan." 

"  I  will  tell  you  all,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  then 
kill  me  if  you  choose.  Still,  hear  me  first,  and  then 
do  as  you  please.  I  am  a  Venetian,"  the  old  man 
began.  "  My  name  is  Giuseppe  Villano.  Twenty 
years  ago  I  was  on  my  way  in  my  own  ghip  with 
a  cargo  of  silk  stuffs  and  spices  from  Rhodes  to 
Venice,  and  was  captured.  1  lost  everything'.  I 
was  taken  to  BeyroTit,  then  to  Damascus,  and  then 


THE  STORY   OF   FATIMA.  163 

to  other  places.  You,  who  have  been  a  captive, 
know  something  of  what  I  felt ;  but  my  fate  was 
harder  than  yours,  for  I  fell  in  with  cruel  masters, 
and  lived  for  three  years  in  anguish  and  despair. 
The  hope  of  returning  to  my  native  country  left 
me.  Such  a  thing  seemed  impossible.  Then  came 
the  devil  to  me  in  my  despair,  and  showed  me  how 
I  might  escape  from  my  chains.  I  had  only  to  say 
the  Moliammedan  formula ;  only  to  utter  a  half 
dozen  words,  and  at  once  I  might  have  all  the 
rights  of  a  free  man. 

'<  Enough.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  this.  I  abjured 
my  God  and  my  Saviour ;  I  gave  up  my  country ;  I 
became  a  renegade, — Kaled,  the  Turk, — and  thus 
I  have  been  for  years.  At  first  the  change  was 
pleasant.  I  was  no  longer  beaten  and  lormented. 
I  found  employers  readily,  and  had  all  the  comforts 
that  I  could  wish.  But  at  last  there  occurred 
something  which  has  embittered  my  whole  life. 
It  was  a  truce  between  the  sultan  and  the  doge. 
Prisoners  were  exchanged.  Word  came  that  all 
the  Venetians  should  be  set  free,  and  sent  home. 
I  saw  it  all.  I  saw  the  Christian  captives  de- 
livered from  their  captivity.  I  saw  all  the  Vene- 
tian prisoners  set  forth  for  their  home.  All  went. 
I  —  I  alone  could  not  go.  I  had  sold  myself  to  the 
devil.  I  had  denied  my  God.  I  had  given  up  my 
country,  and  this  was  my  reward.  0,  young  man, 
believe  me,  the  devil  is  a  ^  ard  master  ;  and  if  we 
are  captured  again,  beware  of  this  temptation.     Be 


1G4  THE  WINGED   LION. 

a  slave  in  the  galleys,  go  clown  into  the  deep  dun- 
geon ;  a}^  kill  yourself,  do  anything,  commit  any 
crime,  but  do  not  give  up  your  country,  and  deny 
your  God  ! 

"  As  for  me,  I  was  condemned  to  eternal  exile. 
I  might  have  escaped,  but  how  could  I  go  back  to 
Venice  ?  My  fellow- captives  all  knew  what  I  had 
done,  and  the  devil  had  tempted  them  with  my 
example.  Now  I  had  given  myself  up  to  everlast- 
ing infccmy,  and  I  had  erected  an  eternal  barrier 
between  me  and  my  home.  r  :^;r 

"  After  the  return  of  the  Venetians,  I  became  a 
prey  to  homesickness,  and  for  years  that  feeling 
has  never  left  me.  I  have  suffered  so  much  from 
this  that  my  old  sufferings  as  a  slave  seem  envi- 
able. O,  how  often  I  have  longed  to  be  able  to  go 
back  to  that  happy,  happy  slavery,  when  my  suf- 
ferings were  only  those  of  the  body,  and  my  mind 
was  at  peace  with  God  I  Then,  at  least,  I  could 
pray  ;  but  now  —  now  —  the  heavens  are  all  black 
above  me  ;  and  I  have  lived  all  these  years  with- 
out God  and  without  hope  in  the  world.  At  last 
I  found  myself  in  Scutari.  Here  I  determined  to 
take  the  first  chance  that  presenteti  itself,  and  go 
home  to  Venice.  But  it  was  a  time  of  war,  and  to 
set  forth  on  such  a  voyage  was  extremely  difficult. 
It  was  while  I  was  thus  deliberating  over  my  best 
course  that  you  came.  I  at  once  resolved  to  win 
your  confidence,  and  get  your  assistance  in  my 
plan.     But  in  order  to  do  this  I  should  have  to  tell 


THE   STORY   OF   FATIMA.  165 

you  my  story,  and  it  was  a  hard  thing  to  do.  So  I 
postponed  it,  and  contented  myself  with  securing 
you  a  pleasant  position  and  kind  treatment. 

"  A  short  time  ago  I  was  in  the  basement  room, 
and  heard  your  voice.  I  looked  out,  and  saw  you 
talking  with  some  one.  I  heard  you  speak  her 
name.  I  understood  it  all.  Pardon  me  if  I  say 
that  I  listened.  I  listened  then,  and  at  other 
times,  for  all  my  fate  seemed  now  bound  up  in 
you.  To  go  home  was  my  one  thought  —  to  go 
home,  to  see  my  country,  to  confess  to  my  God. 
Then  I  could  give  myself  up  to  the  authorities ; 
I  could  confess  ;  I  could  spend  all  the  rest  of  my 
life  in  prayer.  0,  to  be  able  to  pray  once  more  I 
to  pray  !  but  now  I  dare  not,  nor  shall  I  dare  to 
pray  till  I  have  confessed  my  sins  ;  till  the  church 
shall  receive  me  back  into  her  fold,  all  unworthy, 
yet  penitent,  and  with  a  broken  and  a  contrite 
heart,  which  the  God  of  pity  will  not  despise. 

"  Young  man,  do  not  think  of  me  as  a  treacher- 
ous eavesdropper.  0,  think  of  me  as  a  despair- 
ing sinner,  seeking  some  way  of  escape  from  eter- 
nal death  —  a  lost  soul,  with  but  one  ray  of  hope, 
with  but  one  last  faint  chance  of  flying  back  to  Him 
whom  I  had  denied. 

*'  And  so,"  continued  the  old  man,  after  a  pause, 
"  I  heard  all,  and  took  advantage  of  it.  I  took 
you  away,  and  now  take  your  vengeance.  Kill 
me ;  yoTi  have  the  power.  I  will  not  resist.  But 
remember  it  is  not  my  life  that  you  will  destroy ; 


166  THE  WINGED  LION. 

it  is  my  immortal  soul.  Can  you  do  that  ?  Can 
you  stand  between  a  despairing  wretch  and  his 
God  ?  Can  you  stop  my  flight  ?  Are  you  think- 
ing of  going  back,  in  your  despair,  to  see  the  one 
you  love  ?  I  have  read  your  face  well.  I  see  it 
all.  But,  0,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  do  not  stop 
my  flight.  Ilelp  me  to  seek  my  soul's  peace.  Be 
pitiful.  What  is  your  earthly  love  compared  with 
the  eternal  salvation  of  a  fellow-creature  ?  Let  me 
but  stand  once  more  in  Venice.  Let  me  confess 
my  sins.  Let  me  once  more,  if  it  is  but  once,  be 
able  to  look  up  to  the  God  of  mercy,  and  utter  but 
one  word  of  prayer.'^ 

The  old  man  had  told  all  his  story  in  a  wild  and 
vehement  manner,  and  with  deep  agitation.  These 
last  words  were  uttered  in  a  voice  of  despair- 
ing entreaty,  for  Manfrini's  stern  face  seemed  to 
indicate  a  merciless  soul.  But  Manfrini  was  not 
merciless.  Ho  had  been  profoundly  moved  by 
this  confession,  and  his  own  sorrows  seemed  alight 
indeed  compared  with  the  anguish  and  the  remorse 
of  his  companion. 

"  Say  no  more."  said  he.  "  Heaven  forbid  that 
I  should  stand  between  a  penitent  sinner  and  his 
God.  For  me,  I  have  lost  what  is  dearer  than  life ; 
but  you,  I  plainly  see,  have  been  thrown  in  my 
way  by  Heaven  —  by  One  who  willeth  not  the 
death  of  a  sinner,  but  tha  all  should  turn  unto 
Him  and  live." 

Manfrini  said  no  more.     He  gave  up  the  tiller 


THE  STORY  OF   FATIMA.  167 

to  Kaled,  or  rather  Villano,  and  resumed  his  seat 
forward.  After  this  they  sailed  on  in  silence.  The 
breeze  was  fair.  Once  or  twice  they  saw  a  sail  in 
the  distance,  but  tliey  themselves  were  not  seen, 
or  not  regarded.  After  two  or  tliree  days,  during 
which  they  had  more  than  once  a  narrow  escape 
from  capture,  they  reached  Candia.  Here  they 
found  a  ship  which  was  just  leaving  for  Venice  ; 
and  embarking  in  this,  they  at  length  reached  their 
destination.  Here  he  parted  with  Villano,  and  saw 
him  no  more.  Pie  learned,  however,  long  after- 
wards, that  the  renegade  had  made  his  peace  with 
the  church,  had  entered  a  monastery,  and  had 
spent  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  the  exercise  of 
that  lofty  privilege  of  prayer,  which,  through  long 
suffering,  he  had  come  to  regard  as  the  highest 
blessedness  of  man. 

But  to  Manfrini  his  return  home  gave  but  little 
pleasure.  Plis  friends  thronged  around  him,  and 
welcomed  him  with  tears  of  joy  as  one  risen  from 
the  dead.  They  heard  all  his  story,  and  all  were 
fall  of  admiration  for  the  lovely  infidel  who  had 
lightened  the  darkness  of  his  captivity  and  pre- 
pared a  way  for  his  escape.  But  all  this  was  as 
nothing.  To  Manfrini  it  seemed  as  though  all  the 
light  of  life  had  gone  out.  All  now  was  sad,  and 
flavorless,  and  dull.  His  thoughts  never  ceased  to 
revert  to  those  sweet  days  when  he  used  to  stand 
gazing  at  Fatima's  face,  and  hear  the  soft  tones  of 
her  voice,  and  catch  the  glance  cf  her  loving  eyes. 


168  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Those  were  the  brightest  days  of  his  life  ;  and  free- 
dom without  her  was  worse  tlian  slavery  with  her. 

A  year  passed  away.  Manfrini  had  foiuid  new 
occupations,  yet  his  heart  was  unchanged,  and 
Fatima's  imago  was  as  clear  and  prominent  as 
ever  in  his  memory.  The  thouglit  that  she  was 
lost  to  him  forever  was  now  a  familiar  one,  and 
his  only  care  was  to  trust  to  that  mighty  hand  of 
Time  wijich  heals  all  things. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  Manfrini,  when  one 
day  there  landed  at  the  Piazetta  a  foreign  lady, 
richly  dressed  and  of  exquisite  beauty.  Her  ap- 
pearance in  the  thronged  Piazza  excited  universal 
attention,  for  even  there,  where  many  nations  and 
many  faces  were  always  represented,  there  never 
had  been  seen  any  one  like  this.  What  was  more 
extraordinary  was  her  eager  glance  of  inquiry. 
She  traversed  the  whole  Piazza  many  times,  and 
then  began  to  question  passers  by.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  she  was  seeking  some  one.  But  all  that 
she  could  say  was, — 

''Alfeol" 

Alfeo  I  And  who  or  what  might  Alfeo  be  ? 
Alfeo  was  a  common  enough  nance,  like  Matteo, 
or  Taddeo,  or  Tito,  or  Giuglio,  or  Lorenzo.  It  was 
indeed  a  wonderful  thing  that  a  beautiful  stranger 
should  come  alone  to  the  Piazza  di  San  Marco,  and 
seek  after  some  one  of  whom  she  knew  nothing 
more  than  that  he  was  named  "  Alfeo." 

Yet  still  the  beautiful  stranger  went  about,  ask- 


THE   STORY   OP   FATIMA.  169 

ing  with  plaintive  tones  and  anxious  looks  after 
"  Alfeo." 

Many  were  the  conjectures  that  were  made. 
Some  thought  that  she  was  a  Candioie,  who  had 
lost  her  father,  and  was  trying  to  find  him  ;  others, 
that  Alfeo  was  her  attendant ;  others  again  thought 
that  she  was  insane,  and  had  escaped  from  her 
keepers.  A  thousand  other  conjectures  were 
made ;  but  all  were  at  length  cut  short  by  the 
appearance  of  the  agents  of  the  Ten,  who  swooped 
down  upon  the  beautiful  stranger,  and  bore  her 
away. 

After  that  every  one  grew  as  silent  as  the  grave, 
and  talked  of  everything  else  under  the  sun. 

Very  fortunate  was  it  for  the  beautiful  stranger 
that  she  had  come  to  "Venice,  for  there  the  govern- 
ment, with  its  countless  eyes  and  innumerable  spies, 
knew  all  the  movements  of  all  the  people.  The 
story  of  Manfrini  was  well  known  to  them.  Inter- 
preters soon  enabled  them  to  learn  the  story  of  the 
stranger. 

She  was  Fatima,  the  daughter  of  Almamun,  the 
Kadi  of  Scutari.  She  had  fled  from  home,  and 
came  to  Venice  to  find  Alfeo.  This  Alfeo  was  a 
Venetian  who  had  been  a  slave,  and  with  whom 
she  had  intended  to  fly  ;  but  he  had  by  some  mis- 
take gone  away  with  the  overseer.  So  she  had 
waited  for  a  chance  to  follow,  and  had  come  over 
the  sea,  braving  a  thousand  porils,  in  perfect  faith 
and  touching  innocence,  nevei  ubting  that  she 
would  find  her  dear  Alfeo  here. 


170  THE  WINGED  LION. 

Tho  agents  of  the  Ten  did  not  leave  the  beauti- 
ful stranger  long  in  suspense.  They  know  who 
this  Alfeo  was,  and  at  once  sent  for  him.  He  came 
with  all  that  trepidation  which  such  a  message 
might  excite  in  a  Venetian  breast.  He  entered 
the  hall  with  a  dark  and  grisly  horror  in  his  soul, 
with  thoughts  of  the  rack  and  the  wheel. 

The  first  thing  that  he  saw  w  Fatima  !  And 
she  —  the  little  innocent,  all  regardless  of  the  ter- 
rors of  the  Inquisition,  and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
and  the  Council  of  Ten  —  no  sooner  saw  him  than 
with  a  great  cry  of  joy  she  rushed  into  his  arms.    \ 

Here  Veruon  ended. 

"  Well,"  said  Gracie. 

"  Well,"  siiid  Vernon. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  of  course." 

"  But  you  have  not  finished  it." 

"How?" 

"  Why,  you  should  have  told  all  about  their  mar- 
riage." 

"  Why  ?  Isn't  that  all  understood  ?  Of  course 
they  were  married,  and  of  course  they  lived  happi- 
ly ever  after.  That  is  all  implied  in  the  termination 
of  the  story.    Why  should  it  be  expressed  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,"  said  Gracie,  "  you're  right.  It  is  your 
art,  and  you  scorn  to  say  things  openly  when  they 
can  be  suggested.  I  take  back  my  objection,  and 
see  t  jat  your  way  of  ending  the  story  is  best.    But, 


THE  STORY  OP  FATIMA.  IVl 

• 

then,  you  know  ono  loves  to  have  everything  plain- 
ly stated  ;  and  that's  the  way  the  old  story-tellers 
always  did,  for  they  always  made  it  a  point  of  con- 
science to  end  a  story  with  a  minute  description  of 
the  wedding  ceremony." 

"  I'm  glad  you  made  that  criticism,"  said  Vernon, 
after  a  pause.  "  I  see  that  I've  depended  too  much 
on  suggestions.  After  this  I  will  be  more  out- 
spoken." 

Shortly  after  they  all  retired  for  the  night. 


172  THE  WINGED   LION. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Uncle  Moses  still  on  the  Search.  —  On  to  Venice,  —  The 
Hotel  Zcno.  —  Distressing  Disappointment.  —  A  Visit 
to  the  Venetian  Police.  —  Frank  and  Bob  go  the  Rounds, 
—  A  wonderful  City.  —  Lost, 

^E  left  Uncle  Moses  last  at  Padua. 

Further  conversation  with  the  land- 
lord elicited  tlie  information  that  ho  had 
recommended  the  Hotel  Zeno  to  David  and  Clive. 
This  was  encouraging,  for  it  seemed  likely  that  the 
boys  would  go  there,  and  that  they  might  be  found 
at  that  place  ;  or  that,  at  least,  some  information 
miglit  be  gained  about  them.  But  their  only  plan 
was  to  hurry  onward  as  fast  as  possible,  so  as  to 
catch  these  volatile  lads  before  they  might  leave 
for  some  new  place.  Accordingly  they  left  Padua 
on  the  following  morning,  and  in  due  time  reached 
Venice. 

Arriving  here,  they  found  themselves  in  the 
midst  of  wonders  which  impressed  them  as  they 
had  impressed  Clive  and  David.  This  strange  si- 
lent city,  with  canals  for  streets,  with  boats  for 
carriages,  with  no  sound  of  life,  with  universal 
stillness  broken  only  by  the  ringing  of  bells  or  the 


UNCLE  MOSES  ON  THE  SEARCH.       173 

cry  of  gondoliers,  —  it  never  fails  to  fill  the  mind  of 
the  new  comer  with  wonder  and  admiration. 

But  Uncle  Moses  was  altogether  too  anxious  to 
give  way  to  feelings  like  these,  and  Frank  and 
Bob,  though  full  of  the  excitement  of  youth,  felt 
themselves  somewhat  restrained  by  the  sympathy 
which  they  had  for  the  sorrows  of  their  aged  rela- 
tive. And  so  they  were  all  impatient  to  reach  the 
Hotel  Zeno,  so  as  to  learn  what  might  now  be  in 
store  for  them.  Until  the  lost  boys  should  be 
found,  there  could  be  no  peace  for  Uncle  Moses, 
and  consequently  no  pleasure  for  Frank  and  Bob. 

The  gondola  brought  them  to  the  Hotel  Zeno, 
and  here  they  made  inquiries.  Uncle  Moses,  in  his 
deep  despondency,  was  prepared  for  some  fresh 
disappointment,  and  therefore  it  only  elicited  a 
new  though  somewhat  deeper  groan  when  he 
heard  the  reply  to  Frank's  eager  question.  He 
heard  the  same  news  that  had  already  mocked  him 
at  Bologna,  Ferrara,  and  Padua  —  the  same  news 
which  he  had  expected  and  dreaded  to  hear  at 
Venice.  ,^\ 

Those  boys  were  here.  0,  yes  ;  it  was  yester- 
day morning  they  came  with  a  young  lady  —  a  Miss 
Lee. 

This  piece  of  information  was  simply  overwhelm- 
ing. A  young  lady  I  Miss  Lee  !  What  did  this 
mean?  Were  these  brats  of  boys  beginning  to 
pay  attentions  to  young  ladies  ?  Were  they  infat- 
uated ?    Was  it  Clive,  or  David,  or  both  ?    Frank 


174  THE  WINGED   LION. 

and  Bob  stared  at  one  another  in  utter  bewilder- 
ment. ^  V 

Then,  of  course,  came  the  usual  information  that 
they  had  gone  away. 

"  Where  ?  "  was  the  anxious  question. 

They  did  not  know. 

Frank  now  thought  of  asking  this  Miss  Lee  about 
them,  and  inquired  after  her. 

The  answer  was,  that  she  had  gone  away,  too . 
and  what  was  more,  chat  she  and  the  boys  had  all 
gone  away  together.  Nothing  more  than  this  ^  ire 
they  able  to  say.  They  had  not  noticed  the  move- 
ments of  the  boys,  or  of  Miss  Lee,  very  particu- 
larly ;  but  one  of  the  servants  mentioned  that  there 
were  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  who  seemed  to  be  with 
thom. 

"  A  gentleman  and  a  lady ! "  said  Frank,  who 
caught  at  this.     "  Do  you  know  their  names  ?  " 

They  did  not. 

"  A  gentleman  and  a  lady.  Friends  of  Miss  Lee, 
no  doubt,  and  therefore  probably  English  or  Amer- 
ican. The  fact  is.  Uncle  Moses,  Dave  and  Clive 
have  got  among  some  pleasant  acquaintances,  and 
have  left  the  place  to  go  with  them." 

"  But  where  ?"  cried  Uncle  Moses.     "  Where  ?  " 

"And  echo  answers,  '  Where  ? '  "  said  Bob. 

"Where  have  they  gone?"  cried  Uncle  Moses, 
who  was  now  quite  beside  himself  with  grief  and 
anxiety.  "  What  are  they  thinking  of  ?  What  do 
they  mean  ?    They  can't  I^eep  this  up  long.    Even 


PEARS   OF  UNCLE  MOSES.  175 

if  they  want  to  leave  me,  they  can't  leave  me  al- 
ways. They  haven't  enough  money  to  last  them 
over  a  week  at  the  furthest.  Why  haven't  they 
left  some  message  ?  O,  boys  !  boys  !  I  tell  you 
what  it  isj  I'm  afraid  —  I'm  afraid  —  I'm  dreadful 
afraid." 

"  Afraid  of  what  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"  That  somethin's  happened,"  wailed  Uncle 
Moses.  "  It's  a  dreadful  place.  I've  been  dread- 
ful itfraid  of  Vee-nice  all  my  life,  but  I  never  had 
an  idee  of  how  bad  it  was  before.  Why,  there's 
nothin'  but  water,  an'  a  person  can't  go  three  steps 
without  danger  of  gettin'  drownded.  An'  then  the 
spies  !  0,  dear,  who  knows  but  that  this  Miss  Lee 
is  some  spy  in  the  pay  of  the  Council  of  Ten?  and 
this  lady  and  gentleman,  that  they  speak  of,  who 
knows  but  that  they  are  the  agents  of  the  Inquisi- 
ti  i!" 

"  iNonsense,  Uncle  Moses  I  "  said  Frank,  with  a 
laugh.  "  They  don't  have  these  things  in  Yenice 
now.     This  is  a  free  country." 

"  A  free  country  I  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Moses.  "  I 
only  wish  I  was  well  out  of  it ;  an'  when  I  get  the 
poor  lost  boys  back  agair,  I  know  I  won't  stay  here 
much  longer."    -  . 

"  0,  well,"  said  Frank,  "it's  a  comfort  to  know 
that  they  are  in  this  place.  We  shall  find  them 
soon  enough,  I  dare  say." 

"  But  how  do  I  know  that  they're  in  Venice  at 
all  ? "   said   Uncle    Moses,   despairingly.     "  They 


176  THE   WINGED   LION. 

may  have  taken  the  steamer  for  Jerusalem,  or  Jer- 
icho, or  the  North  Pole  !  " 

Uncle  Moses  was  greatly  agitated.  Frank  did 
not  try  to  argue  with  him.  He  merely  persuaded 
him  to  go  to  his  room  and  take  rest. 

"  This  is  a  good  place  to  stop  at,"  said  he.  "  You 
lie  down  and  try  to  sleep.  Bob  and  I  will  go  to 
the  police  office,  and  get  them  to  make  inquiries 
after  David  and  Clive.  We'll  ask  if  they  know 
anything  about  this  Miss  Lee.  We'll  go  about  the 
city,  too,  in  the  boat,  and  keep  our  eyes  wide  open, 
and  perhaps  we  may  find  them.  So  you  try,  Un- 
cle Moses,  to  get  a  little  sleep,  and  don't  fret  your- 
self more  than  you  can  help." 

This,  however.  Uncle  Moses  refused  to  do.  He 
was  not  willing  to  let  them  go,  especially  when 
their  journe}^  led  them  into  the  midst  of  those  for- 
midable powers  of  darkness  —  the  Venetian  police. 
Dread  indeed  was  the  necessity  which  lay  upon 
them  to  make  such  a  visit,  yet  since  it  had  to  be 
done,  Uncle  Moses  determined  to  go  with  them. 

The  Bureau  of  Police  was  in  an  edifice  close  by 
the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark's ;  and  it  is  a  singular  thing, 
that  while  David  and  Clive  were  in  the  cathedral 
with  Vernon  and  Gracie,  the  anxious  Uncle  Moses, 
with  Frank  and  Bob,  were  at  that  very  time  in  the 
police  building —  so  near  were  they  to  a  meeting. 

Their  business  was  stated  as  briefly  as  possible. 
They  explained  how  David  and  Clive  had  gone 
away  from  them,  and  how  they  bad  come  in  search 


THE   HOTEL   ZENO.  177 

of  them,  and  had  finally  lost  them  at  the  Hotel 
Zeno.  The  official,  with  whom  they  were  commu- 
nicating, could  "  spik  Ingelis,"  but  was  apt  to  make 
blunders  here  and  there.  He  promised  to  do  all 
that  could  be  done  to  find  them,  and  took  down 
their  address  so  as  to  communicate  with  them  upon 
learning  anything  of  the  lost  boys. 

Frank  now  thought  of  something  that  might  be 
of  assistance  in  the  search. 

"  The  people  of  the  Hotel  Zeno  tell  me,"  said  he, 
"  that  the  boys  went  away  in  company  with  a  lady 
named  Miss  Lee." 

The  official  seemed  struck  by  this. 

"  Missa  Lee,"  said  he,  and  then  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  a  big  book  before  him. 

"  Missa  Lee,"  said  he  again,  in  a  thoughtful 
voice.     "  Af  she  been  in  Venezia?" 

"  Why,  the  boys  left  the  Hotel  Zeno  along  with 
her." 

"  Ah  —  alonga  wis  her.  Den  —  she  mus  be  in 
Yerona." 

"  Yerona  !  "  cried  Frank,  in  horror.  He  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  setting  forth  on  a  new  search,  and 
leaving  Yenice  almost  the  moment  after  his  ar- 
rival. 

''  Si,  si,  Yerona,"  said  the  official.  "  Dere  is  a 
Missa  Lee  in  Yerona.  De  popolo  come  to  see 
about  er.     We  af  sent  a  messager  after  her." 

*'■  0,  you've  sent  a  message  after  her  —  have 
you?  "  asked  Frank  ;  "  and  did  she  go  to  Yerona  ?  " 
12 


178  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"  0,  yis,  si,  she  go  to  Yerona.  De  amico  —  de 
frien  —  came  ere  to  af  a  messager  sent  for  Missa 
Lee  at  Verona." 

"  When  was  that  ?  "  asked  Frank,  eagerly. 

**  Yesterday." 

"  Then  she  must  have  left  yesterday,  and  gone 
to  Verona." 

"  I  tink  so,"  said  the  official,  solemnly. 

NoAv,  this  official  was  not  the  one  with  whom 
Vernon  had  spoken,  and  knew  nothing  at  all  about 
this  affair  ;  that  is,  nothing  more  than  the  fact  that 
the  aid  of  the  police  had  been  asked  in  order  to 
find  a  Miss  Lee  at  Verona.  Now,  as  this  new 
party  came  to  ask  the  aid  of  the  police  in  a  new 
search,  and  also  mentioned  Miss  Lee,  the  official 
very  naturally  thought  that  it  was  the  same  per- 
son ;  and  so  he  judged  from  Frank's  story  that  some- 
how there  was  a  Miss  Lee  who  had  run  away  from 
her  friends,  taking  with  her  the  two  boys. 

"  Dey  are  too  young,",  said  the  official ;  "  too 
young  to  run  away,  an  what  does  she  want  wit 
two  of  dem  ?  " 

At  this  Frank  and  Bob  both  laughed  ;  but  poor 
Uncle  Moses  looked  more  distressed  than  ever. 
There  seemed  no  end  to  his  troubles  now. 

"  0,  nevare  minda,"  said  the  official,  who  noticed 
the  troubled  face  of  Uncle  Moses,  and  seemed  to 
feel  pity  for  him  ;  "  nevare  mind  ;  we  sail  send  ar 
de  messager,  an  we  sail  findar  dem  all.  Missa 
Lee,  when  she  come  back  she  bring  dem." 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  179 

"  Wlien  did  you  send  the  message  to  Miss  Lee  ?  " 
asked  Frank. 

"  Dis  morning." 

"  And  when  do  you  expect  to  hear  about  her?" 

"  0,  to-day  or  to-morrow.  It  cannot  be  vera 
long  time  ;  dat  is,  if  she  is  in  Yerona  ;  if  not,  why, 
dat  is  different." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Frank,  consolingly,  to  Uncle 
Moses,  "  at  any  rate  they  can't  be  far  away.  Ve- 
lona  is  only  a  little  beyond  Padua." 

"  0,  that's  the  way  it  allers  is,"  said  Uncle  Mo- 
ses ;  "they're  allers  ony  jest  a  little  distance  off; 
but  what's  the  good  of  that  to  me,  when  I  never 
can  lay  my  hand  on  them  ?  " 

The  official  promised  to  do  everything  in  his 
power  lo  find  the  boys,  and  as  there  was  a  possi- 
bility of  their  being  in  Venice,  he  promised  to 
have  inquiries  made  at  the  hotels  and  lodging- 
houses.  Frank  promised  to  come  again  in  the  even- 
ing, and  then,  with  many  thanks  for  the  civility 
which  he  had  shown,  they  took  leave  of  the  re- 
spectable official,  and  returned  to  the  Hotel  Zeno. 

They  now  persuaded  Uncle  Moses  to  lie  down, 
and  try  to  obtain  some  rest  and  sleep.  Poor  old 
Uncle  Moses  was  by  this  time  quite  worn  out  with 
anxiety  and  fatigue,  so  that  he  did  not  seem  to  have 
much  mind  of  his  own  about  anything.  He  yielded 
to  their  persuasion,  and  when  Frank  informed  him 
that  he  and  Bob  were  going  to  look  about  the  city, 
and  suggested  iLe  possibility  of  meeting  with  the 
boys,  he  made  no  objection. 


180  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Frank  and  Bob  now  went  down  and  engaged  a 
gondola.  But  tliey  thought  it  too  stupid  to  be 
rowed  around  by  a  dull  gondolier,  and  it  seemed 
to  them  to  be  far  better  fun  to  have  the  boat  all  to 
themselves,  and  go  wherever  the  whim  might  guide 
them.  Had  Uncle  Closes  been  present,  he  would 
certainly  have  objected  to  this  ;  but  as  he  was  not 
present,  the  two  did  as  they  chose.  They  h"  d  no  dif- 
ficulty whatever  in  getting  the  exclusive  use  of  the 
gondola,  but  the  gondolier  explained  that  they  m;i8t 
stand  up  and  push  at  the  oars,  and  not  sit  down  and 
pull  them.  For  this  is  the  custom  of  Venice,  and 
indeed  it  is  the  only  mode  allowable  in  a  populqus 
city,  where  boats  are  continually  passing  and  re- 
passing, when  obstacles  of  every  kind  have  to  be 
guarded  against,  and  sharp  corners  turned,  and  a 
constant  lookout  ahead  maintained. 

They  rowed  away  up  the  Grand  Canal,  until  at 
length  they  came  to  the  Rialto.  Here  a  vast 
bridge  sprang  across,  with  one  wide  arch,  a  marvel 
of  mingled  beauty  and  strength.  There  was  a  busy 
scene,  for  gondolas  were  passing  to  and  fro,  and 
there  was  something  like  noise  from  the  shouts 
and  cries  of  people  afloat  and  ashore.  They  waited 
for  some  time  looking  upon  the  scene. 

"  There's  something  rather  pleasant  in  this  rack- 
et," said  Bob.  "  Venice  seems  like  a  graveyard, 
it's  so  still.  I  shouldn't  like  to  live  here,  but  it 
would  be  a  ni  -e  place  to  die  in." 

After  passing  the  Kialto,  they  rowed  on  a  little 


A   WONDERFUL    CITY.  181 

farther,  when  the  idea  occurred  to  them  of  seeing 
more  of  the  interior  of  the  city.  So  they  turned 
off  to  the  riglit,  and  went  down  a  long,  straight 
street.  The  houses  here  were  much  dilapidated, 
yet  thoy  sliowed  the  traces  of  better  days  ;  and 
some  looked  as  though  they  might  have  belonged 
to  one  of  those  merchant  princes  who  formed  the 
Venetian  nobility.  On  the  whole,  however,  the 
impression  which  they  received  was  a  sad  one ; 
and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  they  at 
length  emerged  from  the  street,  and  found  them- 
selves on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  with  a  broad 
expanse  of  water  extending  before  them.  Here 
they  rowed  about  for  a  while,  and  then,  entering 
another  street,  plunged  into  the  heart  of  the  city. 

The  streets  here  presented  more  variety.  They 
saw  houses  of  all  kinds  —  the  mean,  the  splendid, 
the  simple,  the  pretentious.  They  passed  by  stately 
churches,  lofty  towers,  ponderous  walls,  and  busy 
squares.  They  went  about  quite  at  random,  with- 
out caring  where,  and  in  the  interest  naturally 
arising  from  such  novel  scenes,  they  were  quite 
unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  time,  until  at  length 
Frank  happened  to  look  at  his  watch,  and  found 
that  it  was  six  o'clock.  ^        "^ 

They  now  sought  to  return  home,  and  found 
themselves  quite  at  a  loss  as  to  the  proper  course 
to  take.  They  rowed  for  a  while  in  what  seemed 
the  right  direction,  but  only  to  find  themselves 
brought  up  at  last  at  a  point  where  a  number  of 


182  THE  WINGED   LION. 

narrow  canals  all  united.  They  therefore  turned 
and  rowed  back ;  but  alter  a  time  they  came  to 
another  phxce  just  like  the  last.  Here  they  stopped, 
and  once  more  considered  their  situation.         f-,>.n-i+ 

The  fact  is,  they  were  utterly  lost.  Worse,  it 
was  now  late,  and  growing  later  every  moment. 
The  boats  that  they  met  were  but  few  in  number. 
They  could  not  see  any  one  of  whom  they  might 
ask  the  way. 

At  last  they  turned  in  desperation,  and  rowed 
up  a  wide  canal,  which  seemed  likely  to  lead  some- 
where. For  a  half  an  hour  they  went  along,  and 
at  length,  to  their  intense  chagrin,  they  found 
themselves  once  more  stopped  in  precisely  the 
same  way  as  before.  There  was  now  nothing  else 
to  do  than  to  turn  in  some  new  direction. 

Once  or  twice  they  met  a  gondola,  and  cried  out, — 

"  Dov  'e  Ja  Piazza  di  San  Marco  ?  " 

An  answer  was  given,  but  it  was  in  the  Venetian 
dialect,  and  utterly  incomprehensible. 

Then  they  asked, —  ,  ,.     - 

"  Dov 'e  1  Gran  Canale  ? "  '     : 

Another  answer  came,  which  was  equally  unin- 
telligible. *  .    .^ 

At  this  time  it  was  growing  later.  Darkness 
came  on.  Fortunately,  the  moon  was  shining,  or 
else  they  would  have  been  unable  to  go  any  far- 
ther. Even  with  the  moonlight,  the  tall  houses 
cast  down  heavy  shadows,  which  made  their  way 
dark  indeed.     Had  it  not  been  for  Uncle  Moses, 


SAFE  AT  LAST.  183 

they  would  liave  considered  this  as  a  rare  adven- 
ture. If  tliey  had  been  alone  in  Venice,  with  onl^ 
themselves  to  think  of,  they  would  have  enjoyed 
the  yituation,  and,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst, 
slept  in  the  gondola  all  night,  in  its  little  cabin,  on 
the  soft  cushions.  But  all  the  time  they  knew  that 
Uncle  Moses  was  waiting  for  them  in  new  terror, 
and  in  deeper  anxiety  than  ever. 

At  length  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  meet 
with  a  gondola  which  was  disengaged.  They  suc- 
ceeded in  making  known  their  wants  to  the  gondo- 
lier, who  took  them  in  tow,  and  brought  them  at 
last  to  the  Hotel  Zeno.  * 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock.  They  found  poor  Un- 
cle Moses  half  frantic  with  anxiety,  and  filling  the 
hotel  with  his  wild  lamentations.  He  received 
them  as  though  they  had  been  raised  from  the 
dead.  ,  , 


184  THE  WINGED   LION. 


CHAPTER  XIII.        • 

The  early  Bird  catches  the  Worm.  —  Bob's  early  Risings 
and  what  came  of  it.  —  A  Bath  in  the  Grand  Canal. — 
The  Approach  of  the  Enemy.  —  Flight  and  Pursuit.  — 
The  Dungeons  of  Venice. 

^fe^RANK  had  promised  to  call  at  the  Police 
/J8;  Bureau  to  find  out  what  they  had  learned 
during  the  day;  but  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  this,  and  his  careless  wanderings  through 
Venice  had  resulted  in  detaining  him  till  this  late 
hour.  After  the  first  joy  which  Uncle  Moses  telt 
at  meeting  with  them  again,  he  asked  anxiously 
whether  they  had  seen  or  heard  anything  of  the 
lost  ones.  ''' 

"  Nothing,"  said  Frank.  "  I  was  in  hopes  that 
you  might  have  heard." 

At  this  Uncle  Moses  plunged  down  once  more 
into  the  depths  of  gloom.  Frank,  as  usual,  en- 
deavored to  console  him  by  trying  to  make  him 
look  on  the  bright  side,  and  by  promising  to  call 
upon  the  police  early  the  next  day. 

Early  on  the  folloAving  day,  at  about  six  o'clock. 
Bob  was  up,  teasing  Frank  to  go  and  take  a  swim. 
This  was  a  pastime  of  which  Bob  was  very  fond  j 


A  BATH  IN  THE  GRAND  CANAL.       185 

but  Frank  did  not  share  his  enthusiasm,  and  on  the 
present  occasion  cared  for  nothing  except  his  sleep. 
So  he  rolled  over  in  the  bed,  and  merely  re- 
marked,   ,:' 

"0,  bother!" 

Bob  therefore  decided  to  go  alone ;  and,  setting 
forth  in  rather  scant  clothing,  he  went  down  stairs. 
The  door  was  unlocked ;  he  passed  out,  and  in  a 
few  moments  he  had  divested  himself  of  the  little 
clothing  which  had  covered  him.  Then  he  stood 
for  an  instant  and  looked  at  the  canal  beneath,  and 
tlien  raising  his  arms,  he  took  a  header  straight  iuto 
the  turbid  wave. 

Rising,  he  struck  out  and  swam  towards  the  other 
side  of  the  canal.  This  he  reached,  and  then  he 
started  to  return. 

But  when  he  was  about  half  way  across  on  his 
homeward  journey,  he  heard  a  sound  which  made 
him  instinctively  turn  his  head.  As  he  looked  he 
saw  a  sight  which  filled  him  with  a  general  sense  of 
consternation.  For  he  saw  a  boat  which  contained 
several  men  in  police  uniform,  and  these  men  all 
had  their  eyes  fixed  upon  him ;  and  what  was 
worst  of  all,  the  police  boat  was  coming  straight 
towards  "him. 

The  only  thing  that  he  could  do  was,  of  course, 
to  try  to  get  back  as  soon  as  possible.  And  this  he 
did.  He  struck  out  most  vigorously.  Terror  lent 
him  strength.  He  had  never  dreamed  of  anything 
illegal  being  in  a  harmless  bath,  but  the  looks  of 


186  THii  WINGED   LION. 

the  policemen  wore  enough  to  show  him  that  his 
offence  was  serious.  And  so  he  struck  out  for  dear 
life,  hoping  to  escape.  But,  alas !  he  was  distant 
from  the  Hotel  Zeno,  and  the  boat  was  near,  and  it 
could  move  much  more  quickly  than  He.  The  wa- 
ter foamed  around  him  and  behind  him ;  yet  still 
that  terrible  police  boat  kept  on  his  track,  and 
gained  on  him  rapidly.  At  last,  just  as  he  reached 
the  middle  of  the  Grand  Canal,  he  found  that  the 
police  boat  was  close  behind  Tjim.  He  struck  out 
wildly,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  The  next  instant  the 
police  boat  was  beside  him,  and  a  strong-  hand  had 
seized  him  by  the  hair. 

As  Bob  felt  the  grasp  of  the  hand  on  his  hair,  he 
tried  to  dive.  The  movement  was  an  unexpected 
one,  and  thus  Bob  jerked  himself  from  the  clutcl^s 
of  the  policeman ;  then  swimming  under  the  boat, 
he  came  up  on  the  other  side,  and  again  struck  out 
for  the  hotel.  He  was  discovered  at  once,  and  the 
boat  pursued.  By  this  manoeuvre  he  had  gained 
but  little ;  still,  the  gain  was  something,  and  Bob 
was  desperate.  But  the  boat  was  close  behind  him, 
and  once  more  Bob  dived,  and  came  to  the  surface 
in  a  new  direction.  This  occurred  two  or  three 
times ;  but  the  police  followed  all  the  more  reso- 
lutely, and  Bob  was  out  of  breath  with  his  exer- 
tions. At  last,  as  the  boat  came  up  to  him  once 
more,  ho  found  himself  seized ;  and  he  was  so  utter- 
ly exhausted  that  ho  could  not  free  himself.  He 
had  to  cling  to  the  boat  for  support. 


THE  BATHER  CAPTURED.  187 

There  were  four  policemen  in  the  boat,  who  re- 
garded him  with  very  stern  faces.  One  of  them 
said  something  td  him  in  Italian,  which,  of  course, 
Bob  did  not  understand. 

"  Really,"  said  he,  "  I  am  quite  mortified,  but  I 
don't  understand  a  word  of  what  you  are  saying." 

This  was  iniintelligible  to  the  police.  They  tried 
again  with  French,  but  with  the  same  result.  Then 
they  spoke  to  him  in  German,  but  this  also  was  a 
failure. 

"  He  must  be  English,"  they  said,  "  or  Russian." 

Bob's  position  was  now  far  from  pleasant.  While 
dashing  about  in  the  freedom  of  nature,  he  had 
found  the  water  highly  enjoyable ;  but  it  was  a  far 
different  thing  to  be  floating  in  it,  held  by  the  hair, 
as  a  miserable  captive.  At  that  moment  he  under- 
stood perfectly  the  sorrows  of  the  captured  trout, 
the  hooked  salmon,  the  speared  eel,  or  the  netted 
shad.  "  You  might  as  well  have  a  hook  in  your 
gills,"  said  he,  afterwards,  "  as  a  hand  clutching 
your  hair."  He  was  too  sensible,  however,  and 
also  too  muc^i  exhausted,  to  make  any  struggle. 
He  awaited  the  action  of  his  captors,  trusting 
that  the  future  would  afford  some  opportunity  of 
escape. 

His  captors,  on  their  part,  did  not  know  what  to 
do  exactly.  The  lad  was  a  foreigner,  and  might 
possibly  be  a  person  of  importance.  This  thing 
might  have  been  done  through  ignorance,  and  even 
his  fierce  efforts  to  escape  seemed  natural.     At 


188  THE  WINGED  LION. 

the  same  time,  the  police  mind  is  slow  to  admit  the 
justice  of  release  when  one  has  been  arrested,  and 
in  Venice  old  associations  are  still  powerful. 

They  therefore  had  no  idea  of  letting  him  go ; 
yet  at  the  same  time  they  did  not  know  how  to  get 
him  into  the  boat.  He  was  a  foreigner,  and  might 
be  some  distinguished  youth.  The}-  did  not  want 
to  run  the  risk  of  offering  unnecessary  insult  to 
one  who  might  be,  perhaps,  an  English  milor,  or 
a  Russian  prince.  Prince,  milor,  or  beggar,  he 
might  bo  any  one  of  these,  for  he  floated  there 
in  the  water  just  as  nature  made  him,  and  without 
any  adventitious  surroundings. 

At  last  Bob  made  some  signs  which  plainly  inti- 
mated that  he  wished  to  clothe  himself.  He  then 
pointed  to  the  Hotel  Zeno.  The  quick-witted  Ital- 
ians, who,  of  all  men,  are  perhaps  the  mo^t  ready 
in  the  comprehension  of  the  language  of  gesture, 
at  once  caught  his  meaning,  and  were  very  glad 
to  comply  with  the  request ;  for  they  did  not 
care  about  taking  away  a  naked  prisoner,  and  be- 
sides they  thought  that  the  prisoner's  clothes  would 
give  some  general  idea  of  his  rank  in  life.  So  the 
boat  moved  slowly  along  towards  the  hotel,  and  Bob 
moved  slowly  after  it,  looking  eagerly  forward  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  Frank.  But  no  one  was  there. 
AH  was  still,  and  not  a  soul  seemed  to  be  stirring. 
At  length  they  reached  the  place  where  the  steps 
ran  down  into  the  water.  On  the  lower  steps  stood 
Pob,  up  to  his  waist  in  water,  and  made  gestures 


BOB  IN   DIFFICULTY.  189 

to  signify  that  liia  clothes  were  up  there  behind  the 
door.  The  Italians  understood  him,  and  one  of 
them  got  out  upon  the  steps.  The  sight  of  this 
movement  filled  poor  Bob  with  dismay.  He  had 
hoped  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  go  after  his 
clothes  alone  ;  but  the  police,  after  having  had  so 
much  trouble  in  capturing  him,  were  by  no  means 
inclined  to  let  him  slip  out  of  tlieir  hands  so  easily 
as  that.  So  the  one  who  had  got  out  of  the  boat 
now  took  him  from  the  hands  of  Bob's  first  captor 
and  led  him  to  the  door. 

Just  inside  of  tliis  were  Bob's  clothes.  There 
was  here  a  spacious  vestibule,  and  the  inner  door 
was  shut.  Tlie  officer  stood  grimly  waiting.  Bob 
looked  all  around.  Had  the  inner  door  been  open, 
he  would  certainly  have  made  a  rush  for  liberty  j 
but  as  it  was,  he  saw  that  it  was  impossible. 

One  hope  yet  remained.  He  tried  by  signs  to 
induce  the  officer  to  let  him  go  into  the  hotel 
and  communicate  with  his  friends.  But  this  the 
officer  positively  refused.  The  fact  is,  he  began  to 
think  that  Bob  was  not  a  prince  in  disguise ;  for 
the  clothes  that  he  put  on  were  by  no  means  sug- 
gestive of  lofty  rank  or  station.  A  pair  of  well- 
worn  trousers  and  a  night  shirt  constituted  the 
simple  attire  in  which  Bob  had  come  down  to  take 
his  morning  bath ;  and  as  he  put  these  on  he  ap- 
peared to  the  police  like  some  very  insignificant 
lad,  with  whom  they  might  be  severe  in  safety. 

In  an  American  or  English  city  the  police  would 


\ 


190  THE   WINGED   LION. 

certainly  have  granted  so  small  a  favor  as  this 
which  Bob  requested ;  but  all  over  the  continent 
of  Europe  there  is  far  more  rigor  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  affairs  than  is  known  in  English-speaking 
countries;  and  though  Venice  had  long  ago  seen 
the  last  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  and  felt  no  more 
the  stress  of  Austrian  tyranny,  still  the  influence 
of  the  past  remained,  and  the  old  habit  of  severity 
was  not  laid  aside.  So  the  end  of  it  uU  was,  that 
Bob  was  carried  away  captive. 


ANOTHER   LOST   BOY.      .  191 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Another  lost  Boy.  —  Terror  and  Despair  of  Uncle  Moses,  — 
A  ivild  Search.  —  A  nother  Visit  to  the  Police.  —  New  Dis- 
appoint7fient.  —  The  End  of  it  all. 

§?(^^RANK  had  rolled  over  again  in  bed,  and 
k!§;  gone  to  sleej>.  It  was  later  than  usual 
when  lie  awoke.  After  dressing,  he  went 
down  to  breakfast,  and  found  Uncle  Moses  looking 
more  distressed  than  ever. 

"  We  must  hurry  to  the  police  office,'^  said  he. 
"  Don't  be  long  over  your  breakfast.  They  must 
have  heard  by  this  time  of  David  and  Clive." 

"  O,  I'll  only  be  a  moment,"  said  Frank. 

"  Where's  Bob  ?  " 

"  Bob  I "  repeated  Frank. 

"  Yes." 

"  Bob  !  Why,  he  must  be  about  somewhere. 
Hasn't  he  had  his  breakfast  yet?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  Why,  haven't  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"Seen  liim?     No." 

At  this  Frank  stared,  and  began  to  feel  troubled. 
As  for  Uncle  Moses,  a  look  of  deadly  terror  came 
over  his  face. 


192  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"  Wliere  is  he  ?  "  he  gasped.  ^ 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Frank. 

"  You  must  have  seen  him.  Did  you  see  him 
when  he  got  up  ?  " 

"  0,  yes.  He  ran  out  —  to  take  a  swim  in  the 
canal.     lie  wanted  —  " 

"  A  swim  ! ''  gasped  Uncle  Moses.  "  A  swim  in 
the  canal  ! " 

"  Why  J  what  of  that  ?  "  said  Frank.  "  He  can 
swim  like  a  duck.  He  wanted  me  to  go  with  him, 
but  I  was  too  sleepy."  '  > 

Uncle  Moses  sank  into  a  seat,  and  there  seemed 
no  more  life  left  in  him. 

"  A  swim  in  the  canal  1 "  he  murmured.  "  He 
can  swim  !  0,  yes ;  but,  then,  this  is  no  place. 
Who  knows  —  who  knows  but  that  there  may  be 
sharks  here  —  sharks,  or  devil  fishes,  or  cuttle 
fishes,  or  sea  sarpints?  0,  derr,  dear!  I  do  wish 
I  was  dead  1  0,  Bobby,  Bobby  I  has  it  come  to 
this?"     ,  i  .,  M    ; 

Thus  far  Frank  had  never  failed  to  find  some 
words  of  comfort  and  consolation  for  Uncle  Moses ; 
but  now  he  could  find  nothing  to  say.  He  himself 
was  troubled.  It  seemed,  indeed,  very  much  as  if 
some  accident  might  have  happened.  There  was 
the  one,  great,  dark,  undeniable  fact,  that  Bob  had 
gone  ofi*  early  in  the  morning  to  swim  in  the  canal, 
and  had  not  returned.  Without  a  word  Frank 
turned  away,  and  went  back  to  the  room  to  see 
if  there  were  any  sighs  of  a  return  from  that  bath. 


TERROR  OF  UNCLE  MOSES.         193 

One  look  filled  him  with  dismay.  There  in  a  chair 
he  saw  Bob's  clothes  —  the  clothes  which  he  usu- 
ally wore  through  the  day.  Frank  remembered 
now  that  Bob  had  hastily  drawn  on  an  old  pair  of 
trousers,  and  had  rushed  down  in  his  night-shirt 
The  truth  was  plain.  He  had  gone  out  to  swim, 
and  had  not  come  back. 

One  thing  yet  remained.  He  must  have  stripped 
himself.  Where  were  his  clothes  ?  That  would 
decide  the  matter.  Half  frantic,  he  rushed  down 
again,  and  out  to  the  door.  He  looked  all  around, 
and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  he  found  no 
signs  of  the  clothes.  Then  he  went  to  the  land- 
lord, and  told  him  his  fears.  Had  the  servants 
found  any  clothes  lying  on  the  edge  of  the  canal, 
or  anywhere  about  ?  The  landlord  had  inquiries 
made  at  once,  but  no  one  had  seen  anything  of  the 
sort.  This  was  a  relief  to  Frank ;  yet,  after  all,  it 
was  only  a  partial  one.  For  the  thought  came  to 
him  that  Bob  might  have  gone  somewhere  else  to 
take  his  bath,  and  that  he  would  not  have  ventured 
to  undress  in  such  a  public  place  as  this.  And  yet 
where  could  he  have  gone  ?  It  was  impossible  to 
conjecture.  What  to  do  he  knew  not.  He  began 
to  fear  the  worst.  He  knew  that  Bob  was  a  good 
swimmer,  but  the  suggestion  of  Uncle  Moses  about 
sharks  was  terrible,  and  produced  an  effect  whioU 
was  not  to  be  shaken  off.  He  was  at  his  wits'  end. 
He  did  not  know  what  to  do.  A  terrible  dread 
was  in  his  heart.  The  landlord  could  give  him  no 
13 


194  THE  WINGED  LION. 

consolation,  for,  indeed,  ho  himself,  and  all  tlie  hotel 
people,  wlio  by  this  time  had  heard  the  news,  had 
a  certain  solemn  and  awe-struck  expression  on  their 
faces,  which  showed  plainly  that  they,  too,  believed 
the  very  worst. 

"  You  can  do  nothing,"  said  the  landlord,  "  and 
we  can  do  nothing.  You  must  go  to  the  police. 
They  will  make  inquiries  ;  and  the  sooner  you  go 
the  better." 

It  was  the  very  thought  that  had  already  oc- 
curred to  Frank,  and  he  prepared  to  set  forth  at 
once.  He  hesitated  for  a  while  whether  to  take 
Uncle  Moses,  or  leave  him  arid  go  alone.  At  length 
he  decided  that  it  would  be  better  to  take  Uncle 
Moses  with  him.  When  he  came  to  his  despairing 
relative  with  his  statement,  he  received  no  answer 
except  a  heart-broken  look,  and  Uncle  Moses  pre- 
pared in  silence  to  accompany  him.  Then  Frank 
informed  the  landlord  of  his  intention,  and  begged 
him  to  do  what  he  could  during  his  absence  towards 
searching  after  the  missing  boy.  The  landlord 
promised  very  earnestly  to  do  whatever  he  could. 

They  now  took  a  gondola,  and  went  to  the  police 
station.  Neither  of  them  could  speak  a  word.  The 
thoughts  of  Uncle  Moses  were  too  deep  for  utter- 
ance. He  was  beyond  the  reach  of  sympathy,  nor 
did  he  seek  for  any  encouragement  to  hope.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  for  the  worst.  As  for  Frank, 
he,  toO;  dreaded  the  worst,  and  did  not  attempt  any 
longer  to  console  his  uncle  with  assurances  which 


AT  THE   POLICE  STATION.  195 

might  in  a  short  time  prove  altof^ethcr  vain.  Be- 
fore long  all  would  be  decided,  and  until  then  Frank 
could  only  wait  in  silence. 

At  length  they  reached  the  Bureau  of  Police. 
They  had  to  wait  for  some  time,  ibr  no  one  was 
there  who  could  speak  English  ;  but  at  length  the 
official  returned  with  whom  they  had  talked  on  the 
former  occasion.     lie  greeted  them  very  civilly. 

"  0,  an  so  you  af  come,"  he  said,  "  to  see  about 
de  young  boys.  I  sail  look,  an  find  if  de  messager 
haf  come." 

He  went  away,  and  was  absent  for  some  time. 
At  length  he  returned. 

"  I  am  ver  sorra,"  said  he,  "  but  notings  haf  come 
back  from  de  messager." 

Frank  in  his  deep  gloom  hardly  expected  any- 
thing else  ;  and  so,  after  a  short  pause,  he  proceeded 
to  state  the  cause  of  their  present  visit.  The  of- 
ficial listened  most  attentively. 

When  Frank  ceased,  he  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  vera  infortnat,"  said  he.  "  Dere  is  dan- 
ger in  de  canale.  I  nevare  go  dere  mysef ;  dere  is 
too  mooch  danger.  Bot  I  sail  do  all  I  can.  I  sail 
senda  de  men  to  investigare  immediatemente.  O, 
yes,  I  sail  do  all  I  can." 

Some  further  conversation  followed,  and  then 
they  went  back  slowly  and  sadly  to  the  hotel. 
They  themselves  could  now  '"'  )  nothing.  They 
could  only  wait,  and  hope  to  hear ;  but  even  this 
hope  was  faint.    The  police  would  go  on  the  search, 


106  THE   WINGED    LTON. 

but  who  could  toll  how  long  it  Avonkl  bo  boforo  any- 
thing could  bo  known?  Indood,  thoir  cliiof  fear 
now  was,  that  nothing  might  over  bo  known,  and 
that  Bob  was  lost  forover.  Tho  loss  of  Clivo  and 
Pavid  was  nothing  to  this.  Tiioy  had  boon  heard 
of  over  and  over  again,  but  Bob  had  departed,  and 
had  loft  no  trace. 

The  long  hours  of  tho  morning  thus  passed,  and 
midday  oime.  With  midday  came  also  a  strange 
and  startling  message.  It  was  from  tlio  Police 
Bureau,  and  informed  them  that  a  boy  had  ttiat 
morning  been  arrested  for  swimming  in  tho  Grand 
Canal,  and  that  they  were  requested  to  come  and 
see  if  ho  was  the  one  whom  they  sought. 

In  an  instant  tho  dark  cloud  of  anguish  rolled 
away  from  the  despairing  minds  of  Uncle  Moses 
and  Frank.  They  understood  it  all.  Yet  they 
wondered  why  tho  official  had  not  told  them  when 
they  made  their  inquiries.  Perhaps  he  did  not 
know.  That  seemed  the  most  probable  conjecture. 
At  any  rate  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost ;  and  so 
they  hurried  to  a  gondola,  and  before  long  were 
once  more  in  the  police  station.  There  they  met 
with  their  friend,  the  official,  who  could  "  spik 
Ingclis."  '"'"'    '■'' 

Ho  informed  them  that  he  did  not  know,  on  their 
former  visit,  of  the  arrest  of  any  one  for  swimming, 
but  that  since  then  he  had  learned  the  facts.  He 
had  seen  the  prisoner,  and  had  recognized  him. 

Upon  this,  Frank  eagerly  demanded  his  release. 


THE   POLICE.  197 

The  official  said  fcomotliing  about  a  violation  of 
the  law,  and  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  singular  state 
of  hesitation.  He  seemed  to  hint  at  a  prolonged  im- 
prisonment for  Bob,  and  said  something  about  fines 
and  n.jney  payments.  As  he  touched  upon  this,  he 
looked  at  Frank  with  a  very  peculiar  expression. 

Frank's  intelligence  caught  at  once  at  his  mean. 
ing.  In  England  or  America  he  would  not  havo 
thought  it  possible,  but  in  Italy  he  had  seen  many 
things  which  showed  him  that  a  large  number  of 
the  officials  are  not  above  receiving  presents  from 
those  who  wish  their  good  offices.  In  this  there 
was  something  wliich  was  very  shocking  to  Frank's 
sense  of  propriety ;  but,  then,  too  much  was  at 
stake  for  him  to  hesitate  a  moment.  Bob  in  con- 
finement, Uncle  Moses  breaking  his  heart  —  these 
were  dread  facts  which  had  to  be  faced.  With  a 
hurried  gesture,  therefore,  he  placed  his  purse  in 
the  hand^^  of  the  official,  saying, — 

"  Get  an  advocate.  Let  us  see  him  as  soon  as 
possible.  There's  enough  there  to  pay  any  ordi- 
nary fine.  And  couldn't  you  free  him  first,  and  let 
the  fine  be  settled  afterwards  ?  " 

The  hands  of  the  official  closed  over  Frank's 
purse  with  an  eager  grasp,  which  showed  how 
welcome  this  offering  was.  His  face  beamed  with 
benevolence,  and  his  whole  manner  changed  from 
official  formality  to  one  of  sympathy  and  geniality. 

"  I  sail  see,"  said  he.  "  Wait  you ;  I  not  be 
long." 


198  THE  WINGED  LION. 

He  departed,  and  they  -waited.  They  were  not 
kept  long.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  door 
opened,  and  the  official  returned  with  the  aspect 
of  a  kind  benefactor,  ushering  in  no  less  a  person- 
age tlian  Bob  himself.  He  had  rather  a  sheepish 
look,  and  his  somewhat  scant  attire  made  him  have 
rather  a  disreputable  appearance,  but  neither  Uncle 
Moses  nor  Frank  thought  of  that.  They  rushed 
upon  him,  and  caught  him  in  their  arms,  and  almost 
wrung  his  hands  off.  As  for  Bob,  he  was  amazed 
at  these  signs  of  feeling ;  but  he  bore  it  philosophi- 
cally, and  as  soon  as  he  could  speak,  he  asked  them 
if  they  had  found  Clive  and  David. 

"  No,"  said  Frank ;  "  we've  forgotten  all  about 
Clive  and  David.  We've  only  been  thinking  of 
you.  And  mark  you,  my  lad ;  this  is  the  last  time 
that  you  go  in  swimming." 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  Bob,  "  I  think  I 
shall  postpone  my  next  swim  till  I  get  home  again. 
At  the  same  time  I  must  say  it's  rather  hard  treat- 
ment ;  and  yet  there  are  people  who  say  that 
Italy's  a  free  country.  I  rather  think  that  the  only 
liberty  Italians  know  is  the  liberties  they  take  with 
unoffending  travellers." 

Neither  Uncle  Moses  nor  Frank  felt  inclined  to 
talk  just  here ;  so  they  hurried  back  with  Bob  as 
fast  as  possible  to  the  hotel,  and  here  they  gained 
from  him  an  account  of  his  adventures.  Of  course 
the  whole  thing  was  now  quite  intelligible,  and  they 
saw  that  no  blame  could  attach  to  poor  Bob, 


BESULTS  OP  THE  RECOVERY  OF  BOB.     199 

The  recovery  of  Bob  had  produced  one  effect  so 
important  and  so  beneficial,  that  it  made  his  little 
adventure  seem  like  a  very  fortunate  occurrence. 
That  effect  was  produced  upon  Uncle  Moses.  Until 
then  he  had  hec^  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into 
an  abyss  of  gloon.  which  was  tending  towards  utter 
despair.  Fruiik  had  already  seen  with  deep  con- 
cern the  misery  and  prostration  of  the  sorrowing 
old  man,  and  feared  that  if  it  lasted  much  longer 
he  would  sink  under  his  anxiety.  The  loss  of  Bob 
had  been  the  final  blow.  He  had  scarcely  been 
able  to  drag  himself  to  the  boat  and  into  the  police 
office.  While  there  he  had  not  been  able  to  say 
one  word,  but  had  sunk  into  a  seat,  with  his  eyes 
staring  fixedly  upon  the  official.  Then,  returning 
to  his  hotel,  he  had  passed  the  long  hours  of  sus- 
pense like  one  demented.  The  news  from  the 
police  had  roused  him ;  the  final  visit  and  the 
meeting  with  Bob  had  altogether  overwhelmed 
him.  In  that  great  revulsion  of  feeling  which  had 
ensued,  he  had  passed  at  one  bound  from  the 
darkest  despair  to  the  highest  and  most  exquisite 
happiness.  On  gaining  Bob,  he  seemed  to  have 
gained  everything ;  and  from  this  he  drew  the 
strongest  encouragement  for  the  future.  He  now 
felt  a  calm  assurance  that  David  and  Clive  were 
all  safe,  —  where,  he  did  not  know ;  yet  still,  they 
were  safe,  and  as  he  had  recovered  Bob,  so  he 
should  recover  them. 

He  was  now  his  ancient  and  original  self,  as 


200  THE  WINGED   LION. 

talkative,  as  amiable,  and  as  full  of  resources  as 
QYQY.  '        '     '  ■=  ■'   ■■'     '""''•'' 

"  My  mind's  made  up,  boys,"  said  he,  as. they  sat 
in  their  room  after  luncheon.  "  I  ben  a  thinkin' 
of  it  ever  sence  we  found  Bob.  We  must  leave 
Venice." 

"  Leave  Yenice  ! "  exclaimed  both  the  boys,  in 
mournful  chorus.  This  announcement  filled  them 
with  disappointment  and  dismay.  "  Leave  Venice ! " 
they  repeated.  "  What  I  and  give  up  our  search 
for  Clive  and  David  ?" 

"  Clive  and  David,"  said  Uncle  Moses,  shaking 
his  head  ;  "  they  ain't  here.  It's  no  use  a  goin'  an' 
a  wastin'  time  in  a  place  like  this.  You  know  they 
ain't  here  at  all." 

The  boys  had  nothing  to  say  to  this. 

"  Besides,  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  It  seems 
like  a  dungeon.  It  was  bad  enough  at  first,  but 
now,  sence  they've  ben  an'  gone  an'  arrested  a  in- 
nocent child  like  Bob,  why,  I  can't  feel  safe  for  a 
moment.  We'll  all  be  arrested  next,  an'  if  we  air, 
why,  we  won't  get  off  so  easy  as  Bob  did.  The 
fact  is,  this  here  city  is  all  honeycombed  with 
dungeons ;  thar  air  spies  everywhere  ;  the  Council 
of  Ten  is  as  bad  as  ever,  and  the  Inquisition  is  in 
full  blast.  I  won't  stay  here  another  day.  Clive 
and  X)avid,  very  fortunately,  are  not  in  the  place, 
an'  I'm  goin'  away  this  very  day." 

"  But  where  can  we  go  ?  "  asked  Frank, 

"  Go  ?    Why,  to  Verony.'^ 


UNCLE  MOSES'  RESOLUTION.  201 

^'  But  we've  sent  messages  off  to  Yerona." 

"  Messages  !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Moses.  "  Pooh  1 
I  don't  believe  they've  done  the  first  thing.  An' 
mind  you,  they  won't  do  anything  till  you  pay  'em. 
You  forgot  to  do  that,  Frank." 

"  So  I  did,"  said  Frank.  "  Ton  my  word,  I  do 
believe  they've  done  nothing." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Uncle  Moses.  "  An'  now 
we've  got  either  to  pay  them,  or  go  ourselves. 
Now,  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  we've  got  to  go 
ourselves.  Don't  say  a  word.  Don't  oppose  me. 
It's  no  use.  I'm  bound  to  go.  My  mind's  made 
up,  and  go  I  will  this  very  day  to  Verony." 

Mild  as  Uncle  Moses  usually  was,  Frank  knew 
perfectly  well  that  when  he  had  once  made  up  his 
mind. to  anything,  he  was  utterly  immovable.  On 
the  present  occasion  he  forbore  to  make  any  ob- 
jection. He  saw  also  that  it  was  perhaps  the  best 
thing  to  be  done  under  the  circumstances,  and  so 
both  he  and  Bob  acquiesced  without  a  word  in  the 
new  plan. 

About  two  hours  after  this.  Uncle  Moses,  with 
Frank  and  Bob,  left  Venice,  and  soon  arrived  at 
Verona.        -r  - 


202  THE  WINGED  LION. 


CHAPTER  XV.     '^ 

JVew  Wanderings  and  more  Stories.  —  The  Espousals  of 
the  Adriatic.  —  The  Capture  of  Consta?ttinople. 

^kP-T  was  certainly  a  singular  position  in  which  our 
Xdt  yo^^^S  fi'iends  were  thrown.  Here  were  two 
parties  separated  from  one  another,  and  yet 
in  the  same  city,  in  one  another's  vicinity,  passing 
and  repassing  over  the  selfsame  track,  without 
either  being  aware  of  the  neighborhood  of  the 
other.  Such  a  thing  might  be  barely  possible  in 
other  cities,  but  in  Venice  it  was  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world.  ' 

On  this  day  they  came  more  closely  than  ever 
upon  one  another's  tracks.  Bob  had  been  arrested 
early  in  the  morning.  Then  came  Vernon  to  the 
police  station  with  inquiries  about  Miss  Lee. 

Scarcely  had  he  left,  when  Uncle  Moses  and 
Frank  came  Thus  the  two  parties  had  been 
brought  into  very  close  proximity.  Yet  Uncle 
Moses  and  Frank,  of  course,  had  no  idea  of  the 
factt.  of  the  caso,  and  Clive  and  David  were  in 
equal  ignorance. 

When  Vernon  came  back  from  the  Police  Bureau, 
he  was  eagerly  interrogated  by  Gracie.     When  he 


ANXIETY   OP   GRACIE.  203 

told  her  that  nothing  had  been  heard,  she  looked 
disturbed. 

"  I'm  beginning  to  be  awfully  anxious,"  said  she. 
*'  I  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  be  doing  eomething, 
and  yet  I  cannot  imagine  what  I  can  do.  I'm 
afraid  that  something  may  have  happened  to  poor 
dear  auntie.  She  is  so  inexperienced  in  travel, 
and  she  grows  so  confused  when  anything  goes 
wrong!" 

Vernon  tried  to  reassure  her. 

"  0,  really,  now,"  said  he,  "  you  must  try  and 
not  give  way  to  anxiety.  It's  natural,  of  course,  for 
you  to  feel  so ;  but  you  must  remember  that  we  are 
doing  the  very  best  we  can.  The  police  can  do 
infinitely  more  than  we  ;  they  have  their  connec- 
tions all  through  Italy ;  they  can  telegraph  and 
communicate  in  other  ways  with  all  possible  places ; 
and  they  are  sure  of  finding  her.  Besides,  it  is 
very  probable  that  your  aunt  will  seek  their  assist- 
ance at  once.'^ 

"  0,  I'm  sure  she  never  will ;  the  very  mention 
of  the  police  is  terrible  to  her.  She  is  very  timid. 
And  that's  the  worst  of  it.  She  has  a  horror  of  all 
the  continental  police,  and  would  die  *rather  than 
seek  their  assistance."  • 

"  Well,"  said  Vernon,  "  if  you  feel  that  some- 
thing more  ought  to  be  done,  I  will  do  it.  If  the 
police  do  not  bring  any  definite  information,  I'll 
take  a  run  to  Verona  myself,  and  that  is  the  hard- 
est thing  in  the  world  for  me  to  do  just  now." 


204  THE  WINGED  LION. 

"  0,  I'm  sure,"  said  Gracie,  "  I  don't  want  you 
to  put  yourself  to  trouble  for  my  sake,  or  to  leave 
Venice  —  or  to  —  " 

"  Trouble  !  "  said  Verncn.  "  It  isn't  that ;  but 
you  know  —  I,  in  fact  —  I  don't  like  to  —  to  leave 
you — even  for  a  day  —  and  if —  that  is,  if  your  aunt 
Were  only  safe,  I  should  like  to  wait  at  l^ast  until 
we  had  seen  the  whole  of  Venice.  And,  at  any  rate, 
we  can  wait  this  one  day.  You  do  not  want  me  to 
go  away  to-day  —  do  you?  You  will  give  me  one 
more  day  —  won't  you  ?  " 

Vernon  spoke  in  a  tone  of  entreaty  that  seemed 
to  indicate  very  strong  emotion.  As  for  Gracie, 
she  herself  seemed  somewhat  agitated.  She  stole 
a  hasty  look  at  the  eloquent  face  of  the  handsome 
young  artist ;  then  her  eyes  fell,  and  she  murmured 
in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  0,  no.  I  should  be  sorry  —  not  to  have  another 
day. —  in  Venice.  I  only  meant  that  —  that  I  felt 
guilty  in  enjoying  myself —  so  much  —  you  know 
— while  poor  auntie  was  perhaps  in  great  misery 
about  me.     That's  all." 

At  these  words  Vernon's  face  grew  radiant. 

"  0,  thank  you  —  thank  you,"  said  he.  "  Then 
we  shall  have  one  more  day  of  enjoyment,  and 
you'll  comp  with  me  to-day,  and  we'll  see  as  much 
as  possible,  and  then  this  evening  I  shall  go  to  hear 
what  the  police  have  found  out.  After  that  we 
may  arrange  other  plans." 

This  seemed  quite  agreeable   to   Gracie.    The 


THE   ARSENAL   OF  VENICE.  205 

assurances  of  Vernon  seemed  to  quell  her  anxiety, 
and  she  gave  herself  up  for  that  day  to  the  enjoy- 
ment that  might  be  had. 

At  the  usual  time  the  boat  was  ready,  and  first 
of  all  they  went  to  the  Arsenal. 

This  place,  once  the  centre  and  the  source  of  the 
naval  power  of  Venice,  was  now  all  still  and  silent. 
The  thousands  of  workmen,  the  hundreds  of  gal- 
leys, the  noise,  the  tumult,  the  clouds  of  blaCK 
smoke  from  boiling  pitch  and  glowing  furnaces, 
which  once  made  the  Arsenal  of  Venice  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  world  —  all  these  things  had  passed 
away.  The  multitude  of  busy  artisans  had  dwin- 
dled to  a  few  loiterers  ;  the  fleet  had  given  place 
to  three  or  four  small  barks  ;  the  noise  and  tumult 
of  vast  enterprises  had  been  succeeded  by  languor 
and  quiet. 

Entering  through  the  massive  gateway,  they 
walked  around  and  surveved  the  docks  and  ware- 
houses.  There  was  but  little  to  gratify  curiosity. 
The  interest  of  the  place  lay  in  the  past.  After 
making  the  tour  of  the  works,  they  seated  them- 
selves upon  a  bench,  from  which  they  had  a  view 
of  the  harbor,  and  gave  themselves  up  to  pleasant 
conversation.     -^   -      '  i    ' 

"  Isn't  there  any  chance,"  asked  David,  "  that 
Venice  will  again  become  a  great  naval  station  ?  I 
should  think  that  now,  being  connected  with  Italy, 
and  free,  she  might  be  made  use  of,  and  this  Arse- 
nal might  become  busier  than  ever." 


206  THE   WINGED   LION. 

*'  0,  no,"  said  Vernon  ;  "  there's  no  chance  of 
that.  Modern  warfare  requires  a  different  place. 
The  enormous  iron- clad s  of  Italy  cannot  come 
here.  The  galleys  of  old  times  required  but  lit- 
tle water.  No  vessels  can  come  here  but  those 
of  light  draught.  Venice  cannot  be  even  the 
Queen  of  the  Adriatic.  Trieste  now  has  that  po- 
sition. By  the  by,  have  you  ever  heard  of  the 
espousals  of  the  Adriatic  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  of  that  ceremony,"  said  Gracie ; 
"  but  I  should  like  to  know  more  about  it.  Haven't 
you  something  in  your  manuscript  that  you  can 
read  ?  " 

At  this  invitation,  Vernon  took  his  manuscript, 
and  read  from  it 

The  Espousals  op  the  Adriatic. 

Well,  you  know,  Frederic  Barbarossa,  Roman 
Emperor,  had  been  engaged  in  a  long  struggle  with 
Pope  Alexander.  It  was  one  of  the  greatest  con- 
flicts on  record,  and  the  two  combatants  fought 
with  very  different  weapons.  For  the  emperor  had 
all  the  warriors  of  Germany  at  his  back,  and  half 
of  Italy ;  while  the  pope  was  armed  with  the  ter- 
rors of  superstition  and  the  thunders  of  the  church. 
Besides  this,  the  pope  was  sustained  by  the  valiant 
Lombard  republics,  who  defied  the  utmost  power 
pf  the  emperor,  and  had  resolved  to  perish  from  off 
the  face  of  the  earth  rather  than  yield.  The  strug- 
gle was  terrible.     It  raged  through  Germany  and 


ESPOUSALS  OF  THE  ADRIATIC.  207 

Italy,  but  especially  Italy  ;  and  at  length  tlio  pope 
became  an  '^xile  and  a  wanderer,  flying  from  place 
to  place.  In  the  course  of  these  wanderings  he 
came  to  Venice. 

There  was  some  danger  in  receiving  the  illustri- 
ous fugitive,  for  Venice  would  thus  encounter  the 
wrath  of  the  mighty  emperor,  who  was  as  powerful 
on  sea  as  on  land.  But  the  Venetians  did  not  stop 
to  count  the  cost.  They  received  Pope  Alexander 
with  boundless  respect  and  hospitality  ;  and  when 
the  emperor  sent  a  demand  for  the  surrender  of 
the  pope,  with  a  denunciation  of  war  in  case  of 
refusal,  the  Venetians  sent  a  haughty  reply,  and 
prepared  for  war. 

The  maritime  power  of  the  emperor  was  vast. 
He  had  on  his  side  the  united  navies  of  Genoa, 
Pisa,  and  Ancona,  which  now,  at  his  command, 
moved  upon  Venice,  in  order  to  attack  the  city, 
punish  the  insolent  Venetians,  and  capture  his 
mortal  enemy  the  pope.  But  the  Venetians  did  not 
wait  for  the  arrival  of  the  imperial  fleet.  They 
themselves  sailed  out  to  act  on  the  aggressive.  On 
coming  in  sight  of  it,  they  found  it  superior  in 
numbers,,  and  provided  with  the  most  formidable 
equipments.  It  was  under  the  command  of  the 
son  of  the  great  emperor,  and  was  regarded  as  in- 
vincible. It  had  been  sent  to  crush  Venice  forever, 
and  all  the  maritime  resources  of  Frederic  had 
been  put  forth  in  order  to  insure  success.  But 
they  had  quite  miscalculated  the  strength  of  Ven- 


208  THE  WINGED  LION. 

ice.  The  Yenotians,  whom  they  expected  to  be- 
siege, came  forth,  and  began  a  fierce  attack.  A 
bloody  struggle  followed,  which  lasted  for  six  or 
eight  hours,  and  terminated  in  a  complete  victory 
for  Venice.  The  imperial  fleet  was  destroyed.  Its 
vessels  and  sailors  were  all  sunk  or  captured,  and 
among  the  prisoners  was  the  emperor's  son  Otho. 
Venice  was  saved ;  the  pope  was  saved  ;  and  in 
that  victory  began  the  downfall  of  Frederic. 

The  fleet  came  back  with  its  long  train  of  cap- 
tured vessels,  all  gay  with  flags  and  streamers. 
Venice  sent  forth  all  its  population  to  swell  the 
triumphant  procession,  and  first  among  those  who 
went  to  greet  the  victors  was  the  pope.  No  one 
knew  so  well  as  he  the  full  meaning  of  this  great 
victory. 

Alexander  addressed  the  victorious  doge  with 
words  full  of  joyful  congratulation.  Then  ho  pre- 
sented him  with  a  gold  ring. 

"  Take  this  ring,"  said  Alexander,  "  and  with  it 
take,  on  my  authority,  the  sea,  as  your  subject. 
Every  year,  on  the  return  of  this  auspicious  day, 
you  and  your  successors  shall  proclaim  to  posterity 
that  the  right  of  conquest  has  subjugated  the  Adri- 
atic to  Venice  as  a  spouse  to -her  husband.'' 

The  doge  took  the  ring,  and  the  Venetians  ac- 
cepted the  gift  of  the  sea.  Thenceforth  for  ages 
they  commemorated  this  great  event  by  a  solemn 
ceremony.  On  every  anniversary  of  this  day  the 
doge,  with  all  the  chief  nobility,  went  to  hear  mass 


ESPOUSALS   OP   THE    ADRIATIC.  209 

at  tho  Cathedral  of  St.  !Mark.  Thnn  they  proceeded 
to  embark  in  the  galley  which  had  carried  tho  dogo 
to  his  triumpli  over  tlio  imperial  fleet.  Blazing 
with  gold,  and  adorned  with  most  costly  ornaments 
and  richeit  trappings,  this  galley,  —  tho  Bucentaur, 
— followed  by  innrmerable  smaller  craft,  proceeded 
through  tho  canals  to  the  mouth  of  iho  harbor. 
There  tho  doge  dropped  tho  ring  into  tho  sea,  with 
these  words :  — 

"  Wo  wed  thee  with  this  ring,  in  token  of  our  per- 
petual sovereignty." 

The  ceremony  was  always  kept  up,  and  was  al- 
ways associated  with  the  proudest  recoil 3ction8  of 
Venice.  Hundreds  of  years  passed  away,  but  the 
old  Bucentaur  lived  on.  Repairs  were  constantly 
made,  until,  like  the  ship  Argo,  there  remained  not 
one  of  her  original  timbers  ;  yet  still  she  was  the 
Bucentaur,  and  as  the  Bucentaur  she  was  used  for 
this  solemn  ceremony  until  tho  Austrians  came. 

"  As  I  said  before,"  said  Yornon,  after  a  while, 
"the  day  of  Venice  is  over  forever.  She  can  never 
again  be  a  great  naval  station,  although  she  may 
live  on,  and  have  some  moderate  amount  of  traffic. 
Formerly  it  was  different.  The  ancient  galleys 
were  slightly  constructed,  and  drew  but  little  water. 
The  fleets  of  Venice,  with  which  she  won  her  great 
triumphs,  and  with  some  of  which  the  destinies  of 
the  world  were  decided,  were  also  composed  of 
galleys  of  shallow  draught." 
U 


210  THE  WINGED   LION. 

*'  "Which  was  tlio  greatest  of  all  the  exploits  of 
Venice?"  ankcd  Gracio. 

"  Well,"  said  Vernon,  "  there  are  two ;  and  the 
question  lies  between  them.  One  was  the  capture 
of  Constantinople,  the  other  wr.s  the  battle  of  Le- 
panto.  In  both  of  these  Venice  had  allies.  But 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  capture  of  Constantinople 
was  more  glorious  for  her,  for  the  reason  tliat  she 
took  tlie  lead  in  that  great  exploit,  and  her  doge, 
old  Dandolo,  was  the  hero  of  the  war.  It  was  dif- 
ferent with  Lcpanto.  If  you  like,  I  will  read  about 
the  capture  of  Constantinople." 

Receiving  the  usual  eager  assent,  Vernon  went 
on  to  read 

The  Capture  of  Constantinople. 

Venice  had  always  been  very  closely  connected 
with  Constantinople.  At  first  it  was  part  of  the 
Roman  empire,  and  reverenced  the  emperor  at 
Constantinople  as  supreme  lord.  Afterwards,  as 
the  city  grew  more  powerful,  the  connection  was 
but  slight ;  yet  still  the  Venetians  looked  upon  the 
emperors  of  the  East  as  the  true  Roman  emperors, 
and  considered  those  Germans  who  arrogated  the 
title  as  barbarian  pretenders.  Commercial  inter- 
course was  constant  and  well  sustained,  and  down 
to  the  time  of  the  crusades  the  attitude  of  Venice 
towards  the  Eastern  empire  was,  with  a  few  ex- 
ceptions, one  of  respectful  friendship,  together  with 
an  acknowledgment  of  the  supreme  rank  of  the 
the  Roman  emperor  who  ruled  in  Constantinople. 


CAPTURE   Or    CONSTANTINOPLE.  211 

But  with  tho  crnsadca  camo  other  feelings. 
These  great  movements  caused  an  immense  in- 
crease in  the  power  and  resources  of  Venice.  Her 
ships  were  needed  to  convey  crusaders  to  the  East, 
and  to  supply  them  while  tliero  with  provisions 
and  munitions  of  war.  Iler  naVies  were  needed  to 
co-operato  with  the  soldiers  of  tho  cross  against  the 
common  enemy.  With  her  growing  power,  Venice 
hecamo  more  ambitious,  and,  in  her  eager  desire  to 
extend  her  commerce,  slie  grow  to  look  on  Con- 
stantinople as  an  obstacle  in  her  way.  At  tlie 
same  time  the  Eastern  empire,  with  its  ruler  and 
its  capital,  had  incurred  the  wrath  of  the  Western 
warriors.  Those  who  returned  Drought  back  end- 
less tales  of  the  treachery  of  the  Eastern  Chris- 
tians, and  all  Europe  came  to  regard  them  as  here- 
tics, whose  Christian  faith  was  but  a  name,  and  who 
preferred  plotting  in  the  closet  to  fighting  in  the 
field.  Time  went  on,  and  these  feelings  grew 
stronger.  The  church  of  the  West  and  the  church 
of  the  East  parted  asunder  forever,  with  mutual 
cai^.'L^.  The  Western  Christians  grew  utterly  es- 
trangec  from  their  Eastern  brethren,  and  various 
wrongs  which  Venetians  had  to  undergo  at  Con- 
stantinople conspired  with  these  other  circum- 
stances to  make  Venice  foremost  in  hostilitv  to  the 
Eastern  capital ;  and  the  policy  of  her  rulers  became 
such  as  made  them  always  on  the  lookout  for  the  op- 
portunity to  inflict  some  harm  upon  the  hated  city. 

Under  these  circumstances  a  new  crusade  was 


212  THE  WINGED   LION. 

preached,  and  the  warriors  of  the  cross  decided  to 
go  by  water  to  their  destination  rather  than  under- 
take the  perils  of  a  land  journey.  Of  all  these 
perils  none  were  more  dreaded  than  the  passage 
across  the  Dardanelles,  for  there  they  would  be 
dependent  upon  the  aid  of  the  Eastern  emperor ; 
and  all  the  West  now  looked  upon  him  as  a  secret 
enemy,  more  to  be  feared  than  the  sultan  of  the 
Turks  himself.  Venice,  therefore,  became  the  ren- 
dezvous for  the  crusaders,  who  gathered  there  in 
large  numbers,  while  the  leaders  sought  to  make  a 
bargain  with  the  government  for  ships  and  sup- 
plies. The  bargain  was  made,  and  the  Venetians 
prepared  a  fleet  for  the  expedition. 

When  the  time  came  for  payment,  however,  it 
was  found  that  the  crusaders  could  not  raise  the 
money ;  and  although  the  chiefs  of  the  expedition 
made  the  utmost  personal  sacrifices,  and  contrib- 
uted all  that  they  possessed  and  all  they  could  bor- 
row, still  there  remained  a  deficit  of  more  than  one 
third  the  required  sum.  The  Venetians  now  came 
forward  with  a  proposal.  One  of  their  colonies, 
named  Zara,  had  recently  revolted.  It  lay  in  the 
way  of  the  expedition,  and  the  doge  off*ered  to  set 
forth  at  once  if  the  crusaders  would  lend  their  as- 
sistance towards  capturing  Zara.  This  proposal 
was  accepted,  and  the  expedition  set  sail. 

It  was  a  gallant  sight.  The  whole  fleet  consisted 
of  five  hundred  vessels  of  all  sizes  ;  two  hundred 
and  fifty  of  these  carried  the  troops,  while  seventy 


CAPTURE   OF   CONSTANTINOPLE.  213 

were  Ir^den  with  military  engines  for  siege  opera- 
tions. Such  a  force  as  this  proved  irresistible  to 
tlie  people  of  Zara.  The  town  was  captured,  and 
the  crusaders  began  to  turn  their  thoughts  towards 
the  Holy  Land. 

But  now,  wliilo  waiting  here  at  Zara,  an  event 
occurred  which  once  more  diverted  the  crusade 
from  its  proper  destination,  and  led  to  a  result 
never  dreamed  of  by  its  original  projectors. 

Some  years  before,  the  Emperor  of  Constantino- 
ple, Isaac  Angelus,  had  been  deposed  and  blinded 
by  his  brother  Alexius.  The  son  of  the  fallen  em- 
peror, \/ho  v/as  also  named  Alexius,  was  imprisoned 
for  some  time,  but  at  length  managed  to  escape, 
and  fled  to  Italy.  His  brother-in-law  was  Philip, 
the  Roman  emperor,  and  his  intention  was  to  seek 
a  home  at  his  court  in  Germany.  On  his  way  there 
he  was  astonished  at  the  great  throngs  who  were 
hastening  towards  Venice,  and  by  the  advice  of 
his  friends  he  sent  a  message  to  the  crusaders,  im- 
ploring their  assistance  towards  the  deliverance  of 
his  father,  and  the  recovery  of  the  crown  of  the 
Eastern  empire.  In  reply,  they  sent  messengers, 
with  the  young  Prince  Alexius,  to  the  Emperor 
Philip,  stating  that  if  he  would  assist  the  crusaders 
towards  the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Land,  they  would 
help  the  prince  towards  the  recovery  of  Constan- 
tinople. 

Philip,  in  reply,  said  that  he  was  unable  to  do 
anything ;  but  Prince  Alexius  made  promises  of  the 


214  THE   WINGED    LION. 

most  attrac;tive  character,  in  order  to  gain  their 
assistance.  He  offered  to  put  an  end  to  the  dis- 
union between  the  Greek  and  Latin  churches,  to 
bring  the  whole  Eastern  empire  into  submission  to 
the  pope,  to  assist  them  with  a  large  army  towards 
the  conquest  of  Jerusalem,  and  added  to  this  bound- 
less offers  of  rewards  in  money,  and  honors,  and 
territory.  But  before  he  could  accomplish  this,  it 
would  be  necessary  for  the  crusaders  to  put  him 
and  his  father  in  power,  and  thus  the  siege  of  Con- 
stantinople would  have  to  precede  the  crusade  in 
the  Holy  Land. 

There  were  vehement  debates  over  this  propo- 
sal ;  but  at  length  it  was  accepted,  and  the  expedi- 
tion set  sail  for  Constantinople,  and  the  Prince 
Alexius,  who  had  joined  the  crusaders  at  Zara, 
went  with  them.  Their  voyage  was  slow  and  de- 
liberate. They  stopped  at  several  places,  where 
they  were  peaceably  received,  and  at  length  came 
within  sight  of  the  great  capital  of  the  East.  The 
historian  of  the  expedition  tells  the  feelings  of 
the  crusaders  at  the  magnificent  sight  that  burst 
upon  them.  "  When  they  contemplated,"  said  he, 
"  the  walls  and  goodly  towers  that  enclosed  it 
around,  the  gay  palaces  and  glittering  churches 
that  seemed  innumerable,  the  immense  dimensions 
of  the  city,  denoting  that  it  was  the  Queen  of  the 
Earth,  they  could  hardly  believe  their  senses ;  nor 
was  th*^'  any  man,  however  bold,  whose  heart  did 
not  tremble  within  him.     This  was  no  marvel,  for 


CAPTURE   OF   CONSTANTINOPLE.  215 

never  since  the  creation  of  the  world  had  such  an 
enterprise  been  attempted  by  such  a  handful  of 
men." 

But  the  Eastern  empire  had  fallen  upon  evil 
days.  A  few  years  before,  when  the  Emperor 
Manuel  was  reigning,  such  an  expedition  as  this 
would  have  been  beaten  back  on  its  first  appear- 
ance, and  pursued  to  wreck  and  ruin.  For  in  those 
days  the  dock-yards  of  Constantinople  could  turn 
out  sixteen  hundred  ships  of  war,  and  the  Greeks 
were  rulers  of  all  the  Eastern  waters.  But  the 
present  emperor  was  attentive  to  nothing  except 
pleasure  and  personal  indulgence  ;  the  care  of  af- 
fairs was  handed  over  to  corrupt  officials  ;  the  fleet 
had  gone  to  decay  ;  the  army  was  almost  extinct ; 
and  even  though  ample  notice  had  been  given  of 
the  approach  of  the  crusaders,  still  such  was  the 
general  mismanagement,  that  no  preparations  had 
been  made  to  oppose  them,  and  the  capital  of  the 
East  lay  exposed  to  their  attack,  itself  almost  de- 
fenceless. The  only  defence  against  the  hostile 
fleet  was  a  stout  chain,  which  had  been  stretched 
across  the  harbor,  behind  which  v  ^re  twenty  gal- 
leys, all  that  remained  of  the  mighty  navy  of  the 
Eastern  empire.  To  such  an  extreme  of  weakness 
had  the  capital  been  reduced  by  the  misgovern- 
ment  of  iflexius. 

Ten  days  were  taken  up  in  preparations,  afler 
which  the  fleet  of  the  crusaders  bore  down  upon 
the  chain.    For  a  time  it  withstood  the  assault ;  but 


216  THE  WINGED  LION. 

at  last,  one  vessel  of  immense  size,  bearing  down 
with  all  its  force,  succeeded  in  breaking  the  cable. 
The  whole  crusading  navy  folio  od,  and  the  twenty 
galleys  inside  were  all  destroyed  or  captured. 

Having  thus  forced  their  way  into  the  harbor, 
they  waited  a  few  days  longer  in  order  to  decide 
about  the  best  mode  of  attack.  It  was  at  length 
resolved  to  make  a  combined  assault  by  sea  and 
land,  the  Venetian  warriors  fighting  from  their  gal- 
leys, and  the  crusaders  on  the  land.  The  prepara- 
tions for  the  attack  were  very  extensive,  and  many 
days  were  taken  up  in  landing  the  troops,  in  pre- 
paring the  engines,  and  in  making  the  galleys 
ready  for  an  assault  from  the  sea  side.  The  prep- 
arations of  the  crusaders  were  rather  simple,  for 
they  trusted  more  to  personal  valor  than  to  military 
machines ;  but  the  Venetians,  who  trusted  to  both, 
made  far  more  elaborate  arrangements.  The  gal- 
leys were  filled  with  warlike  engines,  adapted  to 
hurl  every  variety  of  missile  weapons  into  the  city. 
They  were  covered  with  raw  hides,  so  as  to  be 
protected  from  the  terrible  Greek  fire  ;  and  they 
had  suspended  rope-ladders  from  their  yard-arms, 
by  means  of  which  they  could  let  themselves  down 
upon  the  walls.  These  yards,  with  their  rope- 
ladders,  acted  like  draw-bridges,  and  let  down 
the  Venetians  upon  the  heads  of  the  astonished 
Greeks. 

Their  galleys,  arranged  in  a  single  line,  which 
extended  for  nearly  the  whole  length  of  the  city 


CAPTURE   OP   CONSTANTINOPLE.  217 

wall,  sailed  in  close,  discharging  clouds  of  arrows, 
and  stones,  and  other  missiles.  The  galleys  came 
up  close  to  the  walls,  where  the  Greeks  fought  with 
much  spirit,  and  poured  torrents  of  Greek  Lro  upon 
them.  But  the  precautions  taken  were  succc?«- 
ful,  and  not  much  harm  was  done  in  this  way.  The 
yards  were  lowered,  and  the  Venetians  sought  to 
descend.  For  a  long  time,  however,  they  were 
slain  as  they  came  near  the  wall,  until  it  seemed 
impossible  to  obtain  a  footing,  and  the  Venetians, 
discouraged,  began  to  relax  their  efforts. 

And  now  it  was  that  one  hero  came  forward,  and 
by  a  single  act  of  valor  changed  the  fortune  of  the 
day,  and  won  for  himself  immortal  glory.  This 
hero  was  not  an  ardent  youth,  with  all  his  future 
before  him,  eager  to  win  name  and  fame  by  one 
bold  stroke.  It  was  the  highest  citizen  of  Venice, 
one  who  had  distinguished  himself  by  a  long  life 
of  noble  deeds,  and  might  now  have  chosen  to  rest 
on  his  laurels.  But  though  over  eighty  years  of 
age,  and  blind  also,  the  enthusiastic  valor  of  the 
Doge  Dandolo,  which  had  impelled  him  to  lead  this 
expedition,  now  raised  him  to  the  foremost  place 
of  danger  and  of  honor.  Standing  upon  the  prow 
of  his  galley,  he  had  learned  the  progress  of  the 
fight ;  and  now,  when  his  forces  were  wavering,  he 
ordered  his  men  to  run  the  galley  ashore.  Then, 
holding  the  banner  of  St.  Mark,  he  leaped  out,  and 
was  first  upon  the  land.  His  men  rushed  after  him 
to  sustain  him.    The  other  galleys,  who  had  seen 


218  THE  WINGED   LION. 

this,  did  the  same,  and  the  whole  host  of  Venetian 
warriors,  impelled  by  the  example  of  the  doge, 
rushed  anew  to  the  assault,  this  time  with  such  fury 
that  the  Greeks  were  driven  out,  and  the  whole 
line  of  sea-wall,  with  twenty-five  towers,  was 
seized  and  occupied. 

The  crusaders  had  fared  differently.  The  attack 
which  they  made  on  the  land  side  had  been  repelled, 
and  the  Greeks  in  vast  numbers  rushed  out  to  take 
the  offensive.  The  crusaders  were  compelled  to 
take  refuge  behind  their  intrenchments,  and  in  this- 
position  they  sent  to  Dandolo,  begging  for  assist- 
ance. In  this  emergency,  if  the  emperor  had  been 
animated  by  any  manly  spirit,  he  could  have  over- 
whelmed the  crusading  host ;  but  the  same  weak- 
ness that  had  made  the  capital  defenceless  against 
the  hostile  fleet,  now  made  him  falter  before  a  de- 
termined foe.  He  sounded  a  retreat,  and  led  his 
ibrces  back  to  the  city. 

Yet  still  the  peril  of  the  crusaders  was  great ; 
and  the  Venetians,  though  they  held  the  wall,  had 
to  look  forward  to  fierce  attacks  from  superior 
numbers.  "  But  behold,"  says  the  chronicler  of 
this  expedition,  "  the  miracle  of  the  Lord  !  "  Dur- 
ing the  night  an  event  took  place  which  decided 
the  contest.  This  was  the  flight  of  the  cowardly 
emperor,  who,  hastily  collecting  what  treasure  he 
could,  had  embarked  with  his  family  on  board  a 
swift  galley,  and  fled.  No  sooner  had  this  become 
Khown,  than  the  friends  of  the  deposed  emperor, 


CAPTURE   OF   CONST JiNTINOPLE.  219 

Isaac  Angelus,  went  to  rf^stere  him  to  his  throne. 
He  was  awakened  at  midnight,  and  in  these  mes- 
sengers the  blind  old  man  probably  suspected  at 
first  the  ofiicers  who  were  sent  to  take  him  to  an 
ignominious  death.  But  they  came  to  bring  him 
to  life  and  honor ;  and  after  eight  long  years  of 
miserable  captivity,  he  was  again  clothed  in  the 
imperial  robes,  led  by  the  hand  to  the  palace,  seated 
upon  his  former  throne,  and  once  more  saluted  as 
Roman  emperor. 

"This  sounds  like  a  very  good  ending  to  my 
story;  but  unfortunately  it  was  only  the  beginning 
of  the  end.  For  the  miseries  of  the  aged  Isaac*in 
captivity  were  as  nothing  compared  with  those  that 
yet  lay  before  him.  The  wild  promises  of  his  son, 
the  Prince  Alexius,  could  iiever  be  fulfilled.  Their 
very  mention  excited  fearful  commotion  among  the 
Greeks ;  their  non-fulfilment  roused  the  crusaders 
to  rage  and  vengeance  ;  then  arose  rebellions  ;  the 
Prince  Alexius  was  murdered  ;  the  Emperor  Isaac 
died  of  a  broken  heart ;  the  crusaders  flung  them- 
selves once  more  upon  the  city.  Once  more  they 
were  successful.  Constantinople  was  taken  and 
given  up  to  pillago  and  to  flame,  and  the  Eastern 
Roman  empire  was  divided  among  the  conquerors. 

"  And  so  my  story  ends." 


220  THE  WINQED  LION. 


•;. '  ■!■' 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

Up  the  Grand  Canal.  —  The  Rialto.  —  The  old  original  Bal- 
lad of  Shy  lock.  —  The  Conspiracy  of  7'hicpolo, 

EAVING  the  Arsenal,  they  proceeded  up  the 
Grand  Canal,  and  at  length  came  to  that 
groat  bridge,  the  most  celebrated  in  exist- 
ence, known  as  the  Bridge  of  tlie  Rialto.  They 
landed  here  and  walked  across  it.  It  is  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty-seven  feet  in  length,  and  nearly 
fifty  in  width,  while  on  each  side  are  small  shops. 
It  crosses  the  canal  by  a  single  arch,  which  was  one© 
regarded  as  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world.  But 
the  span  of  this  bridge  has  since  then  been  sur- 
passed, and  in  vastness  also  the  Rialto  Bridge  has 
been  left  far  behind  by  the  gigantic  structures  of 
the  age  of  railroads. 

In  some  things,  however,  the  Rialto  Bridge  can 
never  be  surpassed.  In  the  first  place,  its  beauty 
must  always  be  pre-eminent ;  then,  again,  its  situa- 
tion is  unique  ;  and  not  till  another  Yenice  arises  out 
of  the  sea  can  another  bridge  be  made  which  shall 
rival  this.  But  above  all,  there  is  the  charm  of  old 
associations  which  throws  around  this  bridge  un- 
ending glory.     Around  this  as  a  common  centre 


THE   RIALTO.  221 

revolves  all  the  history  of  Venice ;  it  is  also  the 
centre  of  a  thousand  legends ;  above  all,  it  has  re- 
ceived immortality  from  Shakespeare's  mighty 
hand.  Here  before  the  mind  many  a  form  arises, 
and  chief  among  them  must  ever  be  the  Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  with  his  friends  and  his  relent- 
less enemy,  Shylock. 

Shylock.  —  What  news  on  the  Rialto  ?  Who  is  he 
comes  here? 

Bassanio.  —  This  is  Signer  Antonio. 

With  the  very  sight  of  tlie  Rialto,  these  words 
come  to  the  mind,  and  with  these  words  there 
arises  before  the  mind  the  whole  of  that  wondrous 
and  varied  story. 

It  was  of  this  that  Vernon  and  his  companions 
had  mo*st  to  say  ;  and  Vernon,  who  was  an  ardent 
admirer  of  Shakespeare,  had  a  hundred  things  to 
tell  them  which  threw  fresh  light  on  the  familiar 
play.  Among  other  things,  he  spoke  of  an  old  bal- 
lad, which  must  have  been  familiar  to  Shakespeare, 
and  supplied  him  wii/i  some  of  the  incidents  of  the 
play.  He  had  it  copied  out  in  his  manuscript,  and 
it  bore  a  quaint  title. 

"A  neio  song  sJioiving  the  crueltie  of  GernutuSj 
a  JeiVy  ivhoj  lending  to  a  Marchant  a  hundred 
CroivneSj  ivould  have  a  pound  of  his  Flesh,  because 
he  could  not  pay  him  at  the  day  apjpoynted.  To  the 
tune  of  Black  and  Yellow." 


222  THE  WINGED   LION. 


The  Fibst  Part. 

In  Venice  town,  not  long  ago, 

A  cruel  Jew  did  dwell, 
Who  lived  all  on  Usurio, 

As  Italian  writers  tell. 

Gernutus  called  was  the  Jew 
Which  never  thought  to  die| 

Nor  never  yet  did  any  good 
To  them  in  streets  that  lie. 

His  life  was  like  a  Barrow  Hog 

That  liveth  many  a  day, 
Yet  never  once  doth  any  good 

Until  men  will  him  slay ; 

Or  like  a  filthy  heap  of  dung 

That  lieth  in  a  hoard, 
Which  never  can  do  any  good 

Till  it  be  spread  abroad. 

So  fares  it  with  the  Usurer ; 

He  cannot  sleep  in  rest, 
For  fear  the  tliief  will  him  pursue 

To  pluck  him  from  his  nest. 

His  heart  doth  think  on  many  a  wile 

How  to  deceive  the  poor ; 
His  mouth  is  always  full  of  muck, 

Yet  still  he  gapes  for  more. 

His  wife  must  lend  a  shilling 

For  every  week  a  penny. 
Yet  bring  a  pledge  that's  double  worth, 

If  that  you  will  have  any. 


AN   OLD   BALLAD.  223 

And  see  likewise  you  keep  your  day, 

Or  else  you  lose  it  all ; 
This  was  the  living  of  the  wife ; 

Her  cow  she  did  it  call.  * 

Within  that  city  dwelt  that  time 

A  merchant  of  great  fame, 
Which,  heing  distressed  in  his  need, 

Unto  Gernutus  came,  , 

Desiring  him  to  stand  his  friend 

For  twelvemonth  and  a  day. 
To  lend  to  him  a  hundred  crowns, 

And  he  for  it  would  pay 

Whatsoever  he  would  demand  of  him, 

And  pledges  he  should  have. 
'*  No,"  quoth  the  Jew,  with  flearing  looks  — 

*'  Sir,  ask  what  you  will  have. 

"  No  penny  for  the  loan  of  it 

For  one  year  you  shall  pay ; 
You  may  do  me  as  good  a  turn 

Before  my  dying  day : 

*'  But  we  will  have  a  merry  jest 

For  to  be  talked  long ; 
You  shall  make  me  a  bond,  quoth  he, 

That  shall  be  large  and  strong. 

"  And  this  shall  be  the  forfeiture  : 

Of  your  own  flesh  a  pound; 
I£>  you  agree,  make  you  tlie  bond, 

And  here  is  a  hundred  crowns." 

"  With  right  good  will,"  the  merchant  said; 

And  so  the  bond  was  made, 
When  twelve  months  and  a  day  drew  on 

That  back  it  should  be  paid. 


224  THE  WINGED   LION, 

The  merchant's  ships  wore  all  at  sea, 

And  money  came  not  in ; 
Which  way  to  take,  or  what  to  do, 

To  think  lie  doth  hejjin. 

And  to  Gernutus  straight  ho  comes 

With  cap  and  bended  knee,  ^  • 

■  And  said  to  liini,  **  Of  courtesy, 

I  pray  you  bear  with  me." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  Gernutus  said; 

♦*  Command  it  to  your  •   ind ; 
In  things  of  bigger  weight  tlian  this 

You  shall  me  ready  find." 

He  goes  his  way ;  the  day  once  past 

Gernutus  doth  not  slack 
To  get  a  sergeant  presently 

And  clapped  him  on  the  back ; 

And  laid  him  into  prison  strong,        . 

And  sued  his  bond  withal, 
And  when  the  judgment  day  was  come 

For  judgment  ho  did  call. 

The  merchant's  friends  came  thither  fast 

With  many  a  weeping  eye,    >    ' ; 
For  other  means  ho  could  not  find, 

But  he  that  day  must  die. 

"  Tlie  second  part  of  the  Jewe\'i  crueltie,  setting 
forth  the  mercifulnesse  of  the  Judge ^  toivardes  the 
Merchant     To  the  tune  of  Blacke  and  Yellow.'' 

Some  offered  for  his  hundred  crowns 

Five  hundred  for  to  pay. 
And  some  a  thousand,  two,  or  three, 

Yet  still  he  did  deny. 


AN  OLD  BALLAD.  225 

And  at  the  last  ten  thousand  crowns 

They  offered,  him  to  savo ; 
Gernutus  said,  "  I  will  not  gold. 

My  forfeit  I  will  have. 

"A  pound  of  flesh  is  my  desire, 

And  that  shall  be  my  hire." 
Then  said  the  judge,  "  Yet,  good  my  friend, 

Let  me  of  you  desire 

"  To  take  the  flesh  from  such  a  place 

As  yet  you  let  him  live; 
Do  so,  and  lo  an  hundred  crowns 

To  thee  here  will  I  give." 

**  No,  no,"  quoth  he,  **  no  judgment  here, 

For  this  it  shall  be  tried ; 
For  I  will  have  my  pound  of  flesh 

From  under  his  right  side." 

It  grieved  all  the  company 

His  cuuelty  to  see, 
For  neither  friend  nor  foe  could  help 

But  he  must  spoiled  be. 

The  bloody  Jew  now  ready  is  • 

With  whetted  blade  in  hand, 
To  spill  the  blood  of  innocent 

By  forfeit  of  his  bond. 

And  as  he  was  about  to  strike 

In  him  the  deadly  blow,         - 
*'  Stay,"  quoth  the  judge,  '*  thy  cruelty,  — 

I  chaige  thee  to  do  so. 

"  Since  needs  thou  wilt  thy  forfeit  have. 

Which  is  of  flesh  a  pound. 
See  that  thou  shed  no  drop  of  blood, 

Nor  yet  the  man  confound. 

15 


226  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"For  if  thou  do,  like  murderer 

Thou  here  shjilt  hanged  be ; 
Likewise  of  flesh,  see  that  thou  cut 

No  more  than  'longs  to  thee  ; 

"For  if  thou  take  either  more  or  less, 

To  the  value  of  a  niite. 
Thou  shalt  be  hanged  presently,       '  " 

As  is  both  law  and  right." 

Gernutus  noAV  wax'd  frantic  mad, 

And  wot  not  what  to  say. 
Quoth  he  at  last,  "  Ten  thousand  crowns 

I  will  that  he  shall  pay. 

"And  so  I  grant  to  set  him  free."       ' 
The  judge  doth  ."nswer  make, 

"You  shall  not  have  a  penny  given, — 
Your  forfeiture  now  take."  ; 

♦  Ani  at  the  last  he  doth  demand  1 

But  for  to  have  his  own.     , 
"  No,"  quoth  *he  judge,  "do  as  you  list, 
Thy  judgment  shall  be  shown. 

"  Either  take  your  pound  of  flesh,"  quoth  he, 
"  Or  cancel  me  your  bond." 

"  O,  cruel  judge,"  then  quoth  the  Jew, 
"That  doth  against  me  stand." 

And  so  with  griping,  grieved  mind. 

He  biddeth  them  farewell. 
And  all  the  4)eopie  praised  the  Lord 

That  ever  this  heard  tell. 

Good  people  that  do  hear  this  song. 

For  truth  I  dare  well  say, 
That  many  a  wretch  as  ill  as  he 

Doth  live  now  at  tills  day. 


AN  OLD   BALLAD.  227 

That  soeketh  nothing  hut  the  spoil 

Of  many  a  wealthy  man, 
And  for  to  trap  the  innocent 

Deviseth  what  they  can. 

From  whom  the  Lord  deliver  me, 

And  many  a  Christian,  too, 
And  send  to  them  like  sentence  eke 

That  mcaneth  so  to  do. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the .  old  ballad  ?  "  asked 
Vernon,  as  he  ended. 

"  I  think,"  said  Gracie,  in  a  candid  tone,  "  that  it 
is  sad  doggerel."  . 

"  Yes,"  said  Yernon,  "  so  it  is ;  but  then  it  is  in- 
teresting, after  all,  for  it  shows  how  Shakespeare 
made  up  his  play."       ^ 

"  I  thought,"  said  Clive,  "  that  he  invented  it 
all."  '  ■ 

"  No,"  said  Yernon ;  "  he  never  made  up  any  of 
his  plays  in  that  Avay.  He  always  took  some  story 
such  as  this,  and  in  that  way  made  his  play.  He 
showed  his  inventive  power  in  transforming  a  dull 
and  prosaic  narrative  to  a  play  where  all  the  char- 
acters are  endowed  with  life  and  action,  so  that 
they  live  in  our  memories  always,  and  we  cannot 
hcip  thinking  of  them  as  though  they  were  real 
persons.  To  most  people  Shylock  is  as  real  a  char- 
acter as  Carlo  Zeno,  or  Faliero,  or  old  Dandolo." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Gracie  ;  "  for  how  many 
people  do  you  suppose  know  anything  about  those 
others  ?  " 


228  THE. WINGED   LION. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Yernon,  "  as  real  as  Alexan- 
der the  Great,  or  Julius  Csesar,  or  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte." 

"  But  in  the  ballad,"  said  David,  "no  mention  is 
made  of  Portia  or  the  caskets." 

"  No,"  said  Yernon ;  "  that  was  all  taken  from 
another  storv." 

"  Another  story  ?  Why  couldn't  Shakespeare 
have  invented  that  ?  " 

"  Certainly  he  could,"  said  Yernon ;  "  but  he 
didn't.  He  took  these  stories,  and  used  them  as 
foundations.  That  doesn't  make  his  plays  any  the 
worse  —  does  it?" 

"  Well,  no,  I  suppose  not,"  said  David ;  "  but  it 
seems  as  though  it  takes  something  away  from  his 
genius." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Yernon.  "  If  it  wasn't  for 
Shakespef.re,  no  one  would  attach  any  '.nportance 
to  these  tales  and  ballads.  No  one  else  had  his 
power.  He  stood  alone  — a  mighty  magician ;  and, 
as  Dryden  says, — 

*  Within  that  circle  none  durst  walk  but  he.* 

As  to  the  storv  of  the  caskets,  that  is  found  in  a 
collection  of  tales,  very  popular  in  old  times,  called 
the  Gesta  Romanorum." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Clive.  "  I  have  the  book, 
translated,  of  course.  The  stories  are  full  of  all 
sorts  of  marvels.  They're  not  to  be  compared  to 
the  Arabian  Nights." 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  THIEPOLO.  229 

"  0,  no,"  said  Vernon ;  "  of  course  not.  Few 
people  can  take  any  interest  now  in  tlie  Gesta  Ro- 
manorum;  but  the  Arabian  Nights  are  as  popular 
with  us  as  they  ever  were  with  the  Arabians  them- 
selves, and  are  far  better  known  in  London,  Paris, 
and  New  York,  than  they  are  in  Cairo,  Constanti- 
nople, or  Teheran." 

"  I  have  something  else  in  my  manuscript,'^  said 
Vernon,  after  a  pause,  "  that  is  connected  with  the 
Rialto,  and  if  you  like  I  will  read  it.  It  is  about  a 
famous  conspiracy,  which  had  very  important  re- 
sults." 

"  Read  it,  by  all  means,"  said  Gracie. 

So  Vernon  went  on  to  read 

The  Conspip\cy  of  Thiepolo, 

Venice  was*  often  threatened  by  dangei^  from 
without ;  but  in  the  year  1310  a  danger  aros*^  from 
within  which  produced  greater  effects  than  all  of 
the  others.  These  effects  consisted  in  a  complete 
change  in  the  constitution,  and  the  adoption  of 
a  new  order  of  things,  by  which  the  old  popular 
freedom  perished  utterly,  and  the  once  free  re- 
public became  cursed  with  a  tyranny  which  ulti- 
mately became  a  dark  Reign  of  Terror,  and  by  its 
prolonged  duration  and  awful  power  made  the  very 
name  of  the  state  synonymous  with  all  that  is  most 
detestable  to  human  nature.  Other  revolutions 
have  taken  place  in  proud  republics,  by  which 
their  liberties  have  been  subverted  ;  but  never  has 


230  THE  WINGED  LION. 

there  been  any  change  so  miserable  as  that  by 
which  Venice  passed  from  its  ancient  government 
to  the  mysterious  and  terrible  domination  of  the 
Council  of  Ten.  '    ' 

The  rule  of  the  Doge  Gradenigo  had  been  marked 
by  misfortunes  of  no  common  kind ;  and  to  crown 
all,  a  quarrel  with  the  pope  had  resulted  in  an  in- 
terdict which  weighed  heavily  on  all  classes  of  the 
people.  The  nobles  had  certainly  less  cause  for 
discontent  than  any  others ;  but  on  this  occasion  it 
was  from  this  very  class  that  the  movement  arose 
which  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  overthrow  of 
the  government  and  a  complete  revolution  in  the 
state. 

It  was  set  on  foot  b}''  one  Thiepolo,  a  noble,  who 
belonged  to  one  of  the  chief  families,  and  among 
whose  ancestors  had  been  several  doges.  His  own 
aim  was  ore  of  ambition.  He  thought  the  ducal 
dignity  his  own  due,  and  succeedtd  in  associating 
with  himself  several  other  nobles,  who  hoped  in  this 
way  to  further  their  own  ambitious  designs.  The 
movement  spread  rapidly.  It  was  ably  planned; 
the  secret,  though  involving  so  many,  was  carefully 
kept:  and  so  widely  extended  were  the  connec- 
tions of  this  conspiracy,  that  arrangements  were 
made  for  assistance  from  Padua.  The  insurgents 
in  the  city,  who  themselves  were  very  numerous, 
were  to  be  aided  by  a  large  force  from  the  latter 
place,  and  the  16th  of  June  was  fixed  upon  as  the 
day  for  the  rising. 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF  THIEPOLO.  231 

But  though  the  movement  had  not  been  betrayed, 
it  had,  nevertheless,  beer,  noticed  and  suspected. 
The  keen  eyes  of  the  doge  had  marked  the  gath- 
erings and  other  movements  of  bands  of  men  who 
seemed  bent  upon  some  unusual  purpose.  This 
he  communicated  to  the  Council,  who  at  once  took 
the  alarm,  and  proceeded  in  all  haste  to  guard 
against  the  danger  that  threatened.  Armed  men 
were,  therefore,  stationed  at  various  points,  espe- 
cially at  the  Arsenal  and  at  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark ; 
and  on  the  very  night  before  the  rising  all  these 
precautionary  measures  were  completed. 

The  appointed  morning  came.  It  was  stormy. 
The  rain  poured  down  in  torrents,  and  the  wind 
blew  a  gale.  All  this  was  regarded  by  the  insur- 
gents as  favorable.  The  arrangements  had  all  been 
made,  and  various  bands  had  received  instructions 
to  seize  different  posts  in  the  city.  The  place 
which  was  to  be  assailed  by  Thiepolo  was  the 
Rialto.  His  part  was  accomplished  with  cnrnplete 
success.  There  was  no  resistance.  The  bridge 
was  taken  and  occupied,  and  the  surrounding  dis- 
tricts were  strjngly  fortified. 

Far  different,  however,  was  the  fate  of  the  others. 
The  chief  attack,  after  that  of  Thiepolo,  was  made 
upon  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark.  But  no  sooner  had 
they  reached  the  place  than,  to  their  amazement, 
they  found  it  occupied  by  superior  forces.  A  fierce 
fight  ensued.  The  insurgents,  instead  of  fighting 
for  victory,  were  compelled  to  fight  for  liberty  and 


232  THE  WINGED   LION. 

life.  The  thought  that  they  had  been  betrayed 
utterly  demoralized  them.  Those  who  were  able 
to  fly  did  80  at  once,  and  the  rest,  after  a  brief 
struggle,  were  captured. 

From  these  fugitives  Thiepolo  learned  the  news, 
and  at  once  perceived  that  all  was  lost.  He  only 
sought  now  for  his  own  safety.  Seizing  a  boat,  he 
Bot  out  for  the  main  land,  and  succeeded  in  effect- 
ing his  escape,  while  his  followers,  now  deprived 
of  a  leader,  dispersed  in  all  directions. 

Such  was  the  conspiracy  of  Thiepolo  —  an  event 
which,  in  itself,  would  be  but  of  slight  importance 
among  the  immense  movements  of  Venetian  his- 
tory, but  which,  from  its  important  consequences, 
must  be  considered  as  holding  a  foremost  place 
among  them. 

The  feeling  of  the  government  seems  to  have 
been  one  of  utter  consternation.  All  felt  the  ne- 
cessity of  guarding  against  the  possibility  of 
'another  attempt  like  this.  Rome,  in  one  of  her 
periods  of  trouble,  appointed  a  supreme  ruler  called 
a  Dictator.  Venice  now  did  the  same,  with  the  im- 
portant difference  that  instead  of  one  dictator  there 
were  ten.  Absolute  power  was  given  to  them  for 
punishing  the  rebels,  and  for  devising  means  of 
guarding  against  a  repetition  of  such  a  plot.  The 
new  Council  was  invested  with  perfect  sovereignty 
over  all  in  the  state,  and  freedom  from  all  respon- 
sibility. At  first  they  were  appointed  for  ten  days. 
This  period  was  then  extended  six  times  j  then  it 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OP  THIEPOLO. 


233 


was  prolonged  to  a  year ;  then  to  five  years ;  then 
to  ten ;  and  finally  it  was  made  permanent.  For 
from  the  very  first  the  Council  of  Ten  had  begun 
to  rule  by  mystery  and  terror ;  and  so  effective  was 
the  machinery  which  they  organized,  that  they  at 
length  placed  their  power  on  an  immovable  basis. 


■  •■:  •     ';  ■■  i ,  '■•' 


234  THE  WINGED   LION. 


^  CHAPTER  XVII. 

■    I 

The  outer  Sea.  —  A  distant  View  of  Venice.  —  The  Brides 
of  Venice.  —  The  Story  of  the  War  of  Chiozza, 

)HILE  Vernon  had  been  reading  these 
stories,  the  gondola  had  been  moving 
along  the  Grand  Canal,  and  by  the  time 
that  he  had  finished,  it  had  come  out  into  the  open 
sea.  They  looked  out  and  saw  a  wide  extent  of 
water,  with  here  and  there  an  island,  upon  which 
were  houses  and  churches.  These  islands  lay  sep- 
arated from  Venice,  and  were  inhabited  chiefly  by 
the  lower  orders.  They  formed  what  may  be  called 
the  suburbs  of  Venice. 

The  boat  passed  along  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
at  some  distance,  from  which  they  could  see  to  the 
best  advantage  the  wonderful  appearance  of  Venice 
as  it  lay  before  them,  with  the  waters  encompassing 
it  on  every  side,  rising  out  of  the  sea  abruptly — 
a  marvellous,  an  unequalled  spectacle. 

"  I  am  thinking,"  said  Gracie,  after  a  long  pause 
of  silent  admiration,  "  of  some  poetry  which  is  far 
prettier  than  your  old  ballad." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Vernon,  eagerly.   "  Say  it." 

"  0,  it's  familiar  enough  to  all  of  you.  It's  Byron's 
verses." 


RECITATION  FROM   CHILDE   HAROLD.  236 

"  Say  it,  at  any  rate,"  said  Yemen.  "  I  should 
love  to  hear  you." 

Gracio  threw  a  pretty  little  look  at  him,  half 
embarrassment  and  half  consent,  after  which  she 
recited  eo'^e  verses  :  — 

*'  I  Btood  in  Venice,  on  the  Bri"  ,'e  of  Sighs, 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  liand  : 
I  saw  from  out  the  waves  her  structures  rise 
As  from  the  stroke  of  an  enchanter's  wand. 
A  thousand  years  tlieir  cloudy  wings  expand 
Around  me,  and  a  dying  glory  smiles 
O'er  the  far  times,  when  many  a  suhject  land 
Looked  to  the  Winged  Lion's  marble  piles, 

"Where  Venice  sat  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles. 

**She  looks  a  sea  Cybele,  fresh  from  ocean, 

Rising  with  her  tiara  of  proud  towers 

At  airy  distance  with  majestic  motion, 

A  ruler  of  the  waters  and  their  powers; 

And  such  she  was ;  her  daughters  had  their  dowers 

From  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  exhaustless  East 

Poured  in  her  lap  all  gems  in  sparkling  showers. 

In  purple  was  she  robed,  and  of  her  feast 
Monarchs  partook,  and  deemed  their  dignity  increased." 

Gracie  said  these  verses  with  deep  feeling  and 
fine  emphasis.  Her  voice  was  sweet  and  musical, 
and  all  listened  in  deep  silence. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Vernon,  "  that  you  could  go  on 
and  say  the  whole  canto.  I  can  only  express  my 
feelings  by  quoting  Milton :  — 

'  The  angel  ended,  and  in  Adam's  ear 
So  charming  left  his  voice,  that  he  a  while 
Thought  liim  still  speaking,  still  stood  fixed  to  hear.* " 


236  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Gracio,  with  a  blush  and  a 
pmile.  "  But,  Mr.  Vernon,  haven't  yon  something 
more  to  read  ?  "  -    ' 

Vernon  drew  fortli  liis  manuscript,  and  said, — 

**  0,  well,  if  you  wisli  it." 

"  Wish  it  ?     Most  certainly  we  do." 

And  so  Vernon  began  to  read  the  story  of 

The  Brides  of  Venice. 

Once  upon  a  time,  he  began,  it  was  the  fashion 
among  the  Venetian  aristocracy  to  celebrate  their 
marriages  on  the  eve  of  the  Festival  of  the  Purifi- 
cation of  the  Virgin.  Of  course  marriages  took 
place  on  other  occasions  also  ;  but  this  was  the 
favorite  time,  and  also  the  most  fashionable,  so 
that  there  were  always  a  number  of  weddings  to 
be  celebrated  at  once.  The  ceremonies  always 
took  place  at  Olivolo,  which  lies  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  city,  towards  the  east. 

It  was  one  of  the  greatest  days  in  the  year.  All 
the  friends  of  the  bridal  pairs  would  assemble,  ar- 
rayed in  their  festive  attire,  and  a  large  crowd  of 
gondolas  had  to  be  collected,  so  as  to  convey  the 
party  to  the  place  and  back.  Decorated  with  gay 
streamers,  the  little  fleet  used  to  pass  through  the 
city  to  the  sound  of  lively  music,  followed  by  great 
numbers  of  spectators  in  other  boats  ;  and  in  this 
way  they  approached  their  destination.  To  this 
place  the  friends  of  the  bridal  pairs  also  would 
bring  their   bridal    presents,   which,   being   very 


THE  BRIDES  OP  VENICE.  237 

numerous  and  costly,  represented  in  the  aggre- 
gate a  large  sum  of  money.  It  was  this  great 
prize  which  led  to  a  daring  attempt  on  the  part  of 
some  ruffians  from  Istria. 

Hearing  of  this  ceremony  and  of  the  presents, 
the  idea  occurred  to  them  of  making  a  bold  attempt 
to  seize  the  wedding  gifts.  It  was  carried  out  very 
craftily  and  successfully.  Coming  to  Venice  in  their 
ships,  they  landed  in  disguise  at  Olivolo,  and  con- 
cealed themselves  there  until  the  time  of  the  cere- 
mony. No  one  suspected  danger.  No  one  had 
come  provided  with  arms,  nor  were  there  any 
guards  of  any  kind  about. 

The  ceremony  began  and  went  on,  when  sud- 
denly, in  the  midst  of  it,  with  a  wild,  fierce  shout, 
the  Istrian  brigands  burst  into  the  midst  of  the  as- 
sembly. In  an  instant  they  had  seized  all  the  jew- 
els and  bri'dal  presents.  But  already  another  idea 
had  occurred  to  the  ruffians ;  and  this  was,  to  seize 
the  brides  also.  They  would  be  a  prize  of  far  more 
value  than  gems  or  gold.  Belonging  to  the  noblest 
families  of  Venice,  they  could  command  a  ransom 
of  untold  wealth.  It  was  for  this  that  the  brigands 
seized  them,  and  bore  them  away  shrieking  and 
fainting  from  their  despairaig  friends.  They  then 
rowed  to  their  ship,  boarded  it,  and  fled  across 
the  sea. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  despair.  The  be- 
reaved friends  hurried  back  to  the  city.  The 
doge  summoned  the  citizens  to  arms.     In  a  short 


238  TUB   WINGED   LION. 


« 


time  tho  waters  wcro  covered  with  a  fleet  of  fierce 
pursuers,  hurrying  on  tho  track  of  tho  brigands. 
First  in  tlie  pursuit  was  a  ship  manned  by  tho 
bridegrooms,  who,  with  hearts  almost  bursting 
with  fury  and  despair,  had  seized  the  swiftest 
galley  in  port,  had  set  out  first,  and  were  now 
driving  her  througii  the  water.  • 

Far  away  they  could  see  the  ship  tliat  held  their 
precious  treasures  —  their  brides.  Had  the  brig- 
ands known  better  the  intricate  channels  that 
surround  tho  city,  they  could  have  effected  their 
purpose.  But  they  had  become  bewildered  in  one 
of  the  canals,  and  their  pursuers  gained  rapidly  on 
them,  and  at  length  reached  them. 

In  tho  first  fury  of  le  attack,  love  was  forgot- 
ten, and  there  was  no  thought  of  anything  but  ven- 
geance. The  brigands  resisted  obstinately ;  but  such 
was  tho  frenzy  of  tho  bridegrooms,  that  their  resist- 
ance proved  unavailing ;  and  the  whole  band  were 
slaughtered  ''nd  thrown  into  the  sea.  When  the 
rest  of  the  Venetian  fleet  came  up,  all  was  over,  and 
nothing  now  remained  but  to  lead  back  tho  brides 
in  triumph.  They  all  returned  to  Olivolo.  The 
ceremony  was  continued  from  the  point  at  which 
it  had  been  broken  off,  and  the  rescued  brides  were 
at  last  united  to  those  whom  the}'  thought  they  had 
lost  forever.  ~  - 

Venice  is  a  great  place  for  keeping  alive  the 
memories  of  past  events ;  and  among  its  various 
festivals  the  commemoration  of  the  rescue  of  the 


THE  BRIDES  OF  VENICE.  239 

brides  always  held  a  high  phice.  Every  year 
afterwards,  on  tlio  anniversary  of  this  day,  various 
games  and  festivals  took  place,  chief  among  which 
was  a  procession  of  Venetian  ladies  to  the  Churci). 
of  Santa  Maria  Formosa,  which  is  the  church  at 
Olivolo.  Here  also  the  doge  came  with  another 
stately  procession,  and  on  landing,  went  through 
certain  ceremonies  which  were  designed  to  com- 
memorate the  events  of  that  momentous  day. 

^  "  I  like  early  Venetian  history,"  said  Gracie, 
"  ever  so  much  better  than  later.  It's  not  so 
dark  or  dreadful." 

"  It's  more  cheerful,"  said  Vernon.  "  The  state 
was  free,  and  there  was  no  Council  of  Ten,  no 
spies,  no  secrecy,  no  horrors  to  make  the  b^ood 
run  cold." 

^'  At  any  rate,"  said  David,  "the  history  of  Venice 
nnder  the  Council  of  Ten  is  more  exciting.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Mr.  Vernon  ?  Think  of  the  long  list 
of  harrowing  tales  that  have  made  Venice  famous. 
Shylock  and  Othello  belong  to  the  later  period." 

"  Yes,  and  Otway's  Venice  Preserved,"  said 
Clive. 

"  And  Schiller's  Ghost  Seer,"  said  David. 

"  And  some  of  Mrs.  RadclifFe's,  and  Abellino,  the 
Bravo  of  Venice." 

Vernon  laughed. 

"  0,  go  on,  youngsters,"  said  he.  "  When  it 
comes  to  Abellino,  I  give  up.  I  dare  say  you  are 
better  up  in  that  work  than  I  am." 


240  THE  WINGED   LION. 

''  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Gracie,  "  that  the  Vene- 
tians were  always  rather  politic  and  cautious  than 
heroic.  Is  there  anything  in  their  history  that 
shows  them  reduced  to  extremity  like  the  Athe- 
nians with  the  Persian  in  their  city  ?  or  like  the 
Romans  after  Cannae  ?  or  like  the  Dutch  at  Ley- 
den  ?  or  the  French  after  Agincourt  ?  I  don't  like 
people  that  are  always  cool  and  prudent.  Now,  if 
there  is  anything  that  shows  us  Venice  in  a  more 
heroic  mood,  I  should  like  to  hear  it." 

"  I  think  I  can  find  something  of  that  sort,"  said 
Vernon,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  his  manuscript. 
**  This  will  be  different  from  anything  that  I  have 
read  thus  far." 

And  with  this  he  began  to  read 

The  War  of  Chiozza. 

The  year  1379  saw  the  darkest  days  in  all  the 
history  of  Venice,  from  her  first  beginning  until 
her  final  fall.  War  had  been  raging  with  Genoa. 
The  Lord  of  Padua,  the  bitterest  enemy  of  Venice, 
was  in  league  with  the  Genoese.  The  Venetian 
fleet  under  Admiral  Pisani  had  been  defeated  at 
Pola.  All  the  rest  of  her  ships  of  war  were  far 
away,  under  the  command  of  Carlo  Zeno,  and  noth- 
ing was  left  in  the  city  to  maintain  her  honor  upon 
the  Adriatic.  In  the  midst  of  all  this,  her  enemies 
hastened  to  take  advantage  of  her  distress,  and 
began  a  combined  movement  upon  Venice,  which 
they  hoped  would  efface  her  from  the  list  of 
nations. 


THE  WAR   OF   CHIOZZA.  241 

When  they  heard  of  the  approach  of  the  enemy, 
the  Venetians  hastened  to  complete  all  possible 
measures  for  defence.  All  the  principal  channels 
that  led  to  the  city  were  blockaded  by  means  of 
piles  or  sunken  ships  ;  the  outposts  were  fortified 
and  strengthened ;  most  of  all,  they  sought  to 
strengthen  the  outl3'ing  post  of  Chiozza,  which 
was  the  key  to  the  harbor,  and  the  possession  of 
which  would  inevitably  be  the  object  of  the  first 
and  fiercest  struggle.  Of  the  importance  of  this 
post  the  Genoese  were  as  well  aware  as  the  Vene- 
tians ;  and  therefore  it  was  upon  this  that  they 
made  their  first  attack.  The  struggle  that  fol- 
lowed was  a  bloody  one  ;  the  Genoese  fighting  for 
victory^  the  Venetians  for  self-preservation.  But 
the  defenders  were  far  outnumbered  ;  and  at  last 
Chiozza,  upon  which  so  much  depended,  was  torn 
from  their  grasp,  its  defenders  perished,  and  the 
news  of  this  great  calamity,  when  it  was  made 
known  to  the  Venetian,  seemed  to  tell  them  that 
all  was  lost.  * 

A  panic  spread  through  the  city.  The  people 
assembled  in  despairing  croAvds  in  the  Grand 
Piazza,  awaiting  in  silence  the  action  of  the 
government.  The  Grand  Council  in  scRsion  were 
in  no  less  despair.  The  usual  calmness  and  forti- 
tude which  had  distinguished  the  Venetian  govern- 
ment now  disappeared,  and  they  could  think  of  no 
other  course  of  action  than  a  humble  petition  for 
peace  on  any  terms.  An  embassy  was  sent  to  the 
16 


242  THE  WINGED   LION. 

enemy,  taking  with  them  some  Genoese  prisoners 
of  eminent  rank,  who  were  freed  without  ransom, 
and  also  a  sheet  of  blank  paper,  which  was  to  be 
filled  up  by  the  enemy  with  any  conditions  which 
they  thought  proper.  The  only  proviso  which  the 
ambassadors  were  charged  to  make  was,  that  Venice 
should  remain  independent. 

On  the  reception  of  this  embassy,  the  Lord  of 
Padua  would  have  been  satisfied  with  this  sub- 
mission of  Yenice  on  his  own  terms,  and  would 
have  been  willing  to  concede  the  independence 
of  the  state  ;  but  the  Genoese  Admiral  Doria,  ani- 
mated by  all  the  jealous  hate  of  his  country,  was 
determined  upon  a  far  deeper  vengeance. 

"  Take  back  your  captives,"  said  he,  alluding  to 
the  Genoese  who  had  accompanied  the  embassy. 
"  Ere  many  hours  I  shall  deliver  both  them  and 
all  their  comrades.  By  God  above,  ye  signors  of 
Yenice,  you  must  expect  no  peace  either  from  the 
Lord  of  Padua,  or  from  our  republic,  till  we  our- 
selves have  bridled  the  horses  of  your  St.  Mark. 
Place  but  the  reins  once  in  our  hands,  and  we  shall 
know  how  to  keep  them  quiet  for  the  future." 

This  reply  plunged  the  Yenetians  into  deeper 
despair.  The  Council  remained  in  session,  the  peo- 
ple gathered  around,  and  nothing  now  appeared 
before  them  except  a  hopeless  resistance,  which 
could  only  terminate  in  the  ruin  of  the  state.  In 
this  dark  hour  the  people  thought  of  Pisani.  This 
great  man,  the  popular  idol,  had  until  recently 


THE   WAR   OF  CHIOZZA.  243 

been  the  chief  admiral  of  the  Venetian  navy,  but 
his  defeat  at  Pola  had  led  to  his  humiliation  and 
imprisonment.  The  people  could  now  think  of  no 
other  so  capable  as  he  to  rescue  the  state  from  its 
peril.  Their  doge  was  in  despair,  their  Council 
was  helpless.  There  was  no  one  who  could  say 
what  was  yet  to  be  done,  or  direct  all  that  living 
mass  of  fiery  valor,  which,  without  a  leader,  was  so 
helpless.  And  so  there  went  forth  a  universal  cry 
for  Pisani,  which  could  not  be  resisted.  The  Coun- 
cil and  the  doge  were  glad  enough  to  yield,  and 
sacrifice  their  dignity  and  their  jealousy  for  the 
safety  of  the  commonwealth.  The  prison  doors 
were  thrown  open :  Pisani  came  forth,  and  once 
more  found  himself  the  leader  of  the  Venetians  ; 
but  this  time  it  was  in  the  darkest  hour  of  her 
despair,  and  he  himself  was  the  last  hope  of  his 
country. 

Pisani  showed  no  resentment  for  his  wrongs,  but 
with  self-sacrificing  patriotism  at  once  devoted 
himself  to  the  work  of  rescuing  the  state  from 
its  danger.  All  Venice  felt  the  influence  of  his 
genius.  His  spirit  was  visible  everywhere.  Every 
man  was  put  to  work.  The  approaches  to  the 
city  WGYQ  strengthened  with  fresh  blockades,  and 
larger  defences.  The  mechanics  were  gathered 
into  the  dock-yards  to  construct  new  ship3  of  war, 
or  transform  merchant  vessels  into  galleys.  Every 
able-bodied  man  was  armed  and  drilled.  In  an 
astonishingly  short  space  of  time  the  results  of 


244  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Pisani's  genius  and  energy  were  perceptible.  A 
fleet  made  its  appearance,  which  grew  larger  every 
day.  Manned  with  Venetian  citizens,  who  were 
for  the  most  part  unacquainted  with  war,  this  fleet 
was  incessantly  kept  at  maritime  exercises ;  and 
.the  Genoese,  who  kept  the  blockade,  saw  in  as- 
tonishment a  new  fleet  arising  out  of  nothing,  and 
performing  evolutions  under  their  own  eyes. 

All  classes  were  pervaded  by  the  heroic  spirit 
of  their  leader.  Never  in  the  history  of  the  world 
were  there  greater  examples  of  patriotic  devotion 
and  self-sacrifice.  The  young  men  all  took  up 
arms.  The  women  gave  their  jewels,  and  worked 
incessantly  with  their  hands  for  their  country. 
Old  men,  who  could  do  nothing  else,  gave  up  their 
wealth.  Entire  fortunes  were  presented  to  the 
state,  and  vast  debts  were  given  up  by  creditors  ; 
plate,  jewels,  and  treasure  were  heaped  into  the 
public  coffers  ;  even  the  priests  and  monks  took  up 
arms  in  the  holy  cause  of  their  country.  There 
was  one  tradesman  who  undertook  the  maintenance 
of  a  thousand  men  ;  another  equipped  a  ship  of  war ; 
while  the  poorer  artisans  associated  together  to 
maintain  companies  of  soldiers.  One  of  the  most 
touching  examples  of  this  self-sacrifice  was  seen 
in  the  aged  Matteo  Faseolo.  He  had  been  a 
wealthy  citizen  of  Chiozza,  but  had  lost  all  by  the 
capture  of  that  place.  He  took  his  two  sons  and 
presented  them  to  the  magistrates.  "  If  my  estate," 
said  he,  "  were  such  as  it  once  was,  I  would  give 


THE  WAR   OF   CHIOZZA.  245 

it  all  for  the  requirements  of  my  country ;  but  our 
lives  are  now  all  that  are  left  to  me  and  my  sons. 
Dispose  of  us  as  you  think  best.  Employ  us  either 
by  land  or  sea,  and  let  us  rejoice  in  the  thought 
that  what  little  we  still  possess  is  devoted  to  our 
country." 

At  length,  by  means  of  such  intense  and  pro- 
longed exertions  on  the  part  of  all  classes  of  the 
state,  Pisani  found  himself  in  possession  of  a  force 
with  which  he  might  hope  to  compete  with  the 
enemy  on  equal  terms.  That  enemy  had  already 
gone  into  winter  quarters  behind  Chiozza,  where 
the  most  of  their  ships  were  dismantled,  and  of  the 
whole  fleet  only  three  galleys  were  in  active  ser- 
vice. Chiozza  was  built,  like  Venice,  upon  a  group 
of  islands,  surrounded  by  sand-banks.  The  ap- 
proaches to  this  place  from  the  sea  were  by  means 
of  two  channels,  one  of  which  was  called  Chiozza, 
and  the  other  Brondolo.  The  plan  which  Pisani 
had  conceived  was,  to  make  a  combined  attack 
upon  these  two  channels,  and  block  them  up.  In 
this  case  the  Genoese  fleet  would  be  shut  out 
altogether  from  the  sea.  They  would  then  be 
blockaded  in  turn.  At  the  same  time  the  Vene- 
tian fleet,  under  Carlo  Zeno,  which  was  cruising 
abroad,  might  soon  be  expected  home,  in  which 
case  their  enlarged  forces  would  enable  them  to 
have  the  Genoese  at  their  mercy. 

On  the  23d  of  December  the  Venetian  arma- 
ment set  forth  upon  its  bold  attempt.     Its  de- 


246  THE   WINGED    LTON. 

parture  was  celebrated  with  solemn  services  at  St. 
Mark's.  The  doge  himself  went  with  the  fleet, 
and  swore  never  to  return  unless  victorious.  The 
fleet  consisted  of  fifty  ships  of  war,  sixty  armed 
merchant  vessels,  three  hundred  boats  filled  with 
troops,  and  two  large  hulks  filled  with  stone  and 
rubbish. 

They  made  their  entrance  first  into  the  Strait 
of  Chiozza,  and  landed  five  thousand  men.  The 
Genoese  hurried  forth  to  encounter  them,  and  a 
battle  ensued,  in  which  the  Venetians  were  driven 
back  to  their  boats.  This,  however,  was  part  of 
the  design  of  Pisani,  who  brought  on  the  battle  for 
the  purpose  of  engaging  the  attention  of  the  Geno- 
ese, and  distracting  it  from  his  chief  purpose. 
While  the  battle  was  going  on,  the  hulks  were 
towed  into  the  channel.  The  Genoese,  in  their 
three  galleys,  made  a  desperate  assault  upon  the 
hulks,  and  in  the  course  of  the  struggle  they  were 
sunk.  The  Venetian  flotilla  then  advanced  with 
huge  masses  of  stone  and  ballast,  which  they 
heaped  over  the  sunken  ships.  After  this,  strong 
rows  of  piles  were  driven  in,  and  by  the  end  of  the 
following  day  this  channel  was  completely  blocked 
up  ;  while  the  Venetian  fleet  effectually  prevented 
the  Genoese  from  trying  to  remove  the  obstruc- 
tions. --  „^  __- 

The  other  channel  of  Brondolo  still  remained, 
and  here  the  Venetians  sailed  as  soon  as  possible. 
It  was  guarded  by  strong  posts  on  the  shore,  and 


THE   WAR   OF   CHIOZZA.  247 

a  fierce  conflict  took  place  between  the  Genoese 
and  the  Venetians,  during  which  the  latter  suc- 
ceeded in  their  purpose  ;  for  as  they  had  now  the 
superiority  on  the  sea,  they  were  able  to  block  up 
this  channel  also. 

The  Genoese  were  now  effectually  shut  in ;  the 
only  channels  by  which  they  could  escape  were 
closed  up,  and  the  obstructions  were  incessantly 
guarded  by  the  Venetians.  But  the  Genoese  were 
not  idle.  They  were  well  aware  of  the  danger  in 
Avhich  they  were.  Fierce  fights  took  place  inces- 
santly as  the  Genoese  strove  to  remove  the  ob- 
structions and  force  the  barriers;  but  in  all  of 
these  the  Venetians  maintained  the  advantage. 
The  struggle  between  the  two  now  became  most 
exhaustive  ;  on  the  part  of  the  Genoese  there  were 
incessant  attacks,  on  the  part  of  the  Venetians 
never-ending  vigilance.  For  the  Genoese  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done  ;  but  the  Venetians, 
who  had  already  accomplished  so  much,  had  their 
own  city  behind  them ;  and  the  thought  of  this,  the 
longing  after  home,  and  the  severe  labors  of  con- 
stant watching  and  continuous  fighting,  all  tended 
to  dampen  their  ardor.  Murmurs  arose.  The  men 
clamored  for  some  rest  of  respite  ;  and  at  length 
the  whole  fleet  became  so  mutinous  that  Pisani 
was  compelled  to  3'ield.  He  therefore  promised  to 
return  to  Venice,  but  required  a  further  service 
of  forty-eight  hours,  in  which  time  he  hoped  that 
the  fleet  of  Carlo  Zeno  might  arrive. 


248  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Never  were  forty-eight  hours  passed  in  greater 
suspense,  and  never  did  greater  issues  depend 
upon  the  events  of  that  time.  Like  Columbus, 
when  he  had  been  forced  to  make  a  similar  prom- 
ise to  his  sailors,  Pisani  waited  anxiously,  looking 
out  over  the  waters  to  detect  some  signs  of  that 
which  was  to  determine  so  much.  At  the  same 
time  the  Genoese  looked  forth  over  the  same 
waters  with  equal  anxiety,  for  they,  too,  expected 
aid  and  re-enforcements ;  and  all  their  hopes  de- 
pended upon  relief  from  home. 

At  length,  before  the  time  had  expired,  sails 
were  seen  in  the  distance.  Genoese  and  Venetian 
now  watched  with  equal  anxiety  to  see  what  that 
fleet  might  be.  Pisani  waited  in  a  suspense  as 
great  as  that  with  which  Napoleon  waited  at 
Waterloo,  to  know  whether  the  approaching  force 
might  be  that  of  Grouchy  or  Blucher.  *, ., 

At  last  all  suspense  ended,  and  as  the  fleet  ap- 
proached, the  Venetians  rose  up  from  doubt  and 
dark  terror  to  wild  and  enthusiastic  joy.  The 
fleet  was  theirs  ;  it  was  the  long-looked-for  fleet  of 
Carlo  Zeno. 

The  struggle  now  went  on  more  furiously  than 
ever ;  the  Venetians  eager  to  bring  the  war  to  an 
end,  the  Genoese  animated  by  love  of  life,  the 
hope  of  escape,  and  every  motive  that  is  most 
powerful  in  the  human  heart.  In  the  midst  of  the 
conflict,  the  great  Doria  perished  ;  and  though  he 
thus  escaped  the  calamities  of  the  future,  still  the 


THE  WAR  OP   CHIOZZA.  249 

loss  of  their  leader  made  that  future  darker  than 
ever  for  the  Genoese. 

On  the  19th  of  February  a  combined  attack  waa 
made  by  land  and  sea  upon  the  Genoese  posts. 
In  the  course  of  the  struggle,  the  Genoese  made 
an  attempt  to  get  into  the  rear  of  Zeno's  force ;  but 
a  brilliant  movement  on  the  part  of  that  commander 
led  to  their  defeat.  In  the  course  of  their  flight  a 
bridge  broke  down  beneath  the  weight  of  the  multi- 
tude upon  it,  and  the  fugitives,  thus  cut  off,  were* 
all  slaughtered  helplessly. 

After  these  terrible  losses,  the  Genoese  shut 
themselves  up,  and  acted  on  the  defensive,  ani- 
mated only  by  the  hope  of  relief  from  home.  At 
last  a  fleet  appeared,  which  proved  to  be  the  one 
that  had  been  so  long  desired.  The  Venetians 
had  anticipated  this ;  they  had  made  all  their  prep- 
arations, and  had  decided  upon  their  best  policy. 
That  policy  was  to  maintain  the  blockade,  which 
now  not  only  shut  in  the  besieged,  but  also  kept 
the  re-enforcements  from  reaching  them.  As  the 
new  fleet  approached,  the  Venetians  watched  them 
in  the  security  of  an  unassailable  position  :  and  the 
Genoese  on  both  sides  perceived  in  anguish  of  soul 
that  no  communication  was  possible  between  them. 
The  Genoese  Admiral  Maruffo,  who  commanded 
the  relieving  fleet,  reconnoitred  every  position, 
but  found  each  in  turn  impassable ;  while  the 
wretched  garrison,  who  had  watched  his  approach 
with  such  feverish  joy,  now  beheld  his  retreat,  and 


260  THE   WINGED    LION. 

burst  forth  into  passionate  lamentations  and  cries 
of  despair. 

The  garrison  still  held  out.  Provisions  had  long 
since  failed  them,  and  they  were  reduced  to  the 
last  privations.  But  surrender  to  an  implacable 
foe  seemed  worse  than  death ;  and  they  endured 
everything  before  consenting  to  that.  On  one 
occasion  a  desperate  attempt  was  made  to  pass 
over  to  the  main  land  by  means  of  rafts  and  small 
boats ;  but  in  this  they  were  unsuccessful.  •  The 
Venetians  pursued  them  in  boats,  and  all  per- 
ished. 

At  last  all  was  over.  The  Genoese  garrison  had 
to  make  an  unconditional  surrender.  The  Vene- 
tians held  victory  within  their  grasp,  and  entered 
into  the  fortress  that  had  so  long  repelled  them. 
Out  of  that  proud  armament  which  had  brought 
Venice  down  to  the  lowest  depths  of  despair,  they 
found  but  nineteen  galleys  left,  and  only  a  little 
over  four  thousand  men,  whose  emaciated  frames 
bore  witness  to  their  prolonged  sufferings. 

On  the  surrender  of  the  garrison,  the  Genoese 
Admiral  Maruffo  retreated ;  and  the  Venetians  re- 
turned in  triumph  to  their  city.  At  the  head  of 
his  victorious  host,  the  doge  entered  the  city  in 
the  Bucentaur ;  and  that  day  was  the  most  glori- 
ous in  all  the  annals  of  Venice. 


YOUTH    AND   PLEASURE.  261 


CHAPTER  XVIII.       , 

A  floats  —  Itt  a  Gondola,  —  Romantic  Situation.  —  The  Story 

of  the  three  Artists. 

'(HE  gondola  still  glided  along  upon  the  outer  ' 
waters. 

''This  is  delightful,"  said  Vernon.  "I 
feel  like  singing,  '  I'm  afloat,  I'm  afloat.'  Here 
we  are  gliding  along,  youth  at  the  prow,  and 
pleasure  at  the  helm;  youth  in  the  persons  of  Clive 
and  David,  who  art.  eagerly  trying  to  make  out 
places  from  the  map  of  the  city,  while  pleasure  at 
the  helm  may  be  represented  by  our  good  selves, 
as  we  sit  here  in  this  snug  little  cabin,  bent  on  en- 
joying ourselves." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Gracie,  "  that  I  could  thank  you 
sufficiently  for  the  pleasure  that  you  have  given 
me,  Mr.  Vernon.  There  has  been  only  one  draw- 
back —  only  one." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vernon  ;  "  I  know.  But  still  let  us 
hope  that  we  shall  hear  something  this  evening 
about  your  aunt.  If  not,  I  will  set  to  work  my- 
self. At  the  same  time  I  hope  to  have  good  news 
this  evening." 

"  I  hope  so,  I'm  sure,"  said  Gracie. 


262  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"  If  I  don't  hoar  anything,  I  will  go  myself,  much 
as  I  hato  to  break  up  these  delightful  interviews. 
I  hope,"  continued  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  I  have 
made  it  pleasant  for  you." 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  Gracio, ''  you  must  have  seen 
for  yourself  how  pleasant  it  has  been.  I'm  afraid 
I've  been  enjoying  myself  too  much.  I've  forgot- 
ten my  poor  auntie." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I've  forgotten  to  do  my  duty, 

too,"  said  Vernon.     ''  I've  been  thinking  so  much 

of  you  that  I've  forgotten  your  aunt.  ,    ,; 

•-■* ,    • 
*  With  thee  conversing,  I  forget  all  time; 

But  neither  breath  of  morn,  when  she  ascends,  ' 

With  charm  of  earliest  birds,  nor  rising  sun, 

Nor  grateful  evening  mild,  nor  silent  night, 

With  this  her  solemn  bird,  nor  walk  by  noon, 

Nor  glittering  starlight,  without  thee  is  sweet.' "      ''"'" 

"  That's  from  Milton,"  said  Gracie,  with  a  pretty 
little  air  of  embarrassment.  "  You  appear  to  take 
great  delight  in  Paradise  Lost,  Mr.  Vernon." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  take  greater  deiiglit  in  a  present 
Paradise,"  said  Vernon,  looking  at  her  with  deep 
meaning. 

Crracie's  eyes  fell  before  his,  and  her  embarrass- 
ment grew  greater.  Vernon  drew  nearer  to  her, 
f^nd  was  just  on  the  point  of  saying  something 
niore ;  but  unfortunately  at  that  moment  Clive  and 
u.?avid  came  in,  arguing  hotly  about  some  point  on 
which  they  wished  to  have  his  decision.  The  de- 
cision was  promptly  made,  and  in  dive's  favor  j 


THE  THREE   ARTISTS.  253 

after  which  Vernon  looked  as  if  he  tiiought  that 
the  boys  might  possibly  want  to  go  out  again. 
But  the  boys  hat!  no  idea  of  anything  of  the  kind. 
On  the  contrary,  tlic}^  deposited  tliemselves  in  easy 
attitudes  on  the  soft  cushions,  and  Clive  said, — 

"  Would  it  be  too  much,  Mr.  Vernon,  to  ask  vou 
to  read  another  of  your  stories  ?  " 

"  0,  do,"  said  Gracie.  "  Haven't  you  another 
story  about  artist  life  ?  " 

Vernon  drew  a  long  breath,  and  took  up  his  man- 
uscript with  an  air  of  resignation.  His  little  re- 
mark to  Gracie  had  thus  to  be  postponed.  What 
he  read  was  the  following :  — 

The  Three  Artists. 

Sagredo,  Pezaro,  and  Urso  were  three  young 
artists  who  had  studied  under  Titian.  Of  these, 
Sagredo  had  been  the  master's  favorite.  He  was 
distinguished  by  his  warmth  of  coloring,  his  fer- 
tility of  conception,  and  his  marvellous  power  of 
indicating  by  delicate  touches  the  most  subtile  va- 
riations in  the  expression  of  the  human  counte- 
nance. Pezaro  was  an  artist  of  superior  abilities  ; 
in  drawing  and  coloring  he  was  quite  equal  to  the 
other ;  he  was  also  most  painstaking,  and  never 
grudged  any  labor  that  might  make  his  work  bet- 
ter ;  but  then  he  lacked  the  rare  power  of  concep- 
tion which  was  evinced  by  Sagredo,  and  the  equally 
rare  power  of  putting  those  conceptions  upon  can- 
vas.    As  a  copyist,  he  was  almost  perfect  j  but  in 


254  THE  WINGED   LION. 

*  - 

an  origmal  picture  he  failed  to  exhibit  that  mastery 
over  the  world  of  passion  and  expression  which 
was  so  prominent  a  feature  in  Sagredo's  works. 
Urso,  again,  was  different  from  both.  Ardent  and 
impetuous,  he  had  vivid  conceptions,  but  he  had 
not  the  patience  to  work  them  out.  He  tried  to 
grasp  at  perfection  by  a  sudden  rush,  and  could 
not  wait  to  seek  after  it  by  slow  and  steady  appli- 
cation. His  works  indicated  great  general  effects, 
which  might  appeal  to  the  common  crowd,  but  not 
the  finished  creations  of  an  artist  who  works  for 
the  cultivated  classes.  In  fact,  anything  like  care- 
ful finish  was  out  of  his  power.  He  boasted  of  his 
rapidity,  and  sneered  at  the  slow  and  laborious  ef- 
forts of  Sagredo,  whom  he  always  depreciated,  and 
of  whom,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  bitterly  jealous. 
The  annual  Easter  exhibition  of  paintings  was 
approaching.  It  was  to  take  place  in  the  Museo 
Pamfili ;  and  great  was  the  excitement  among  all 
those  who  took  an  interest  in  art  —  a  class  which  in 
Venice  was  a  very  large  one.  Many  competitors 
had  given  in  their  names,  but  the  chief  interest 
rested  upon  Sagredq  and  Pezaro.  Among  the  oth- 
ers was  Urso.  As  he  was  in  the  habit  of  sneering 
at  everything,  so  he  directed  his  sneers  at  these 
exhibitions.  He  declared  the  judges  to  be  partial 
and  prejudiced.  For  his  part,  he  said,  he  did  not 
intend  to  kill  himself  for  a  lot  of  old  women.  He 
intended  to  enjoy  himself,  and  dash  off  some- 
thing at  the  latest  moment.     Genius,  he  asserted, 


THE  THREE   ARTISTS.  255 

disdains  drudgery.  A  work  of  art  ought  to  show 
something  more  than  manual  labor.  His  works 
showed  brains,  and  if  the  judges  had  brains  they 
vould  decide  differently  ;  but  then  they  always 
decided  by  a  set  of  formal  rules,  and  had  no  For<l 
to  perceive  the  subtile  beauty  of  a  great  and  origi- 
nal work. 

All  this,  and  more  of  the  same  sort,  was  listened 
to  approvingly  by  a  little  crowd  of  admirers  who 
had  gathered  around  Urso,  who  were  impressed  by 
his  positiveness,  by  his  constant  depreciation  of 
others,  and  by  his  vigorous  self-assertion. 

The  appointed  day  at  last  came.  All  the  pic- 
tures were  hung,  and  curtains  protected  each  one 
from  the  dust,  and  also  served  to  con  eal  them  un- 
til the  moment  should  arrive  when  each  should  be 
revealed.  A  large  crowd  assembled,  full  of  curi- 
osity, and  among  them  was  the  great  master,  Ti- 
tian, who  was  always  interested  in  the  progress  of 
his  pupils. 

Picture  after  picture  was  disclosed,  and  each  re- 
ceived its  proper  comments.  That  of  Pezciro  was 
universally  admired.  It  represented  the  Flight 
into  Egypt  —  an  old  subject,  which,  however,  was 
treated  with  much  originality —  a  burning  plain  — 
a  solitary  palm  tree  —  the  holy  family  resting  — 
the  ass  tethered  near  at  hand,  and  cropping  some 
scant  herbage.  Titian  looked  and  smiled  approv- 
ingly. 

A  few  others  were  uncovered,  and  then  came 


256  THE  WINGED  LION. 

Urso's  picture.  It  was  a  great  blaze  of  coloring, 
coarsely  dashed  on,  and  was  a  palpable  appeal  to 
the  popular  prejudice  and  self-conceit.  The  sub- 
ject was  the  Genius  of  Venice  —  a  nude  figure, 
with  a  halo  round  the  head,  and  a  crown  of  stars 
was  represented  flying  over  the  waves.  In  the 
sky  above  were  Fame,  Victory,  Peace,  Fortune,  and 
twenty  more  allegorical  figures ;  in  the  water  be- 
neath was  Neptune  with  a  great  crowd  of  Tritons 
and  Nereids ;  while  upon  a  distant  shore  stood  a 
row  of  other  figures  representing  the  states  of 
Europe.  Some  were  loud  in  applause  ;  others  were 
silent ;  Titian  raised  his  brows,  and  then  looked 
away. 

Urso  saw  this  somewhat  contemptuous  move- 
ment. 

"  It's  not  in  the  old  man's  style,"  he  whispered 
to  a  friend  ;  ''  he  don't  understand  it  at  all.  But 
his  day  is  over.  My  turn  will  come,  for  I'm  going 
to  found  a  new  school." 

At  last,  Sagredo's  picture  was  reached,  and  all 
waited,  full  of  eager  expectation. 

The  curtain  was  drawn. 

For  a  moment  all  stood  staring  in  perplexity,  and 
then  looked  at  one  another  in  wonder.  The  pic- 
ture —  what  did  this  mean  ?  What  was  this  that 
they  saw  before  them  ?  It  was  notliing !  Nothing 
was  there  but  a  confused  blur,  that  looked  like  a 
great  daub  from  some  coarse  and  hasty  brush. 
Amazement  seized  upon  all,  and  amazement  was 


THE  THREE   ARTISTS.  257 

followed  by  confusion.  Titian,  who  had  awaited 
the  drawing*  of  the  curtain  with  a  smile  of  pleas- 
ant anticipation,  looked  around  in  astonishment. 
Pezaro  stared  at  Sagredo,  and  all  the  rest  did  the 
same.  For  it  seemed  at  first  as  though  this  enigma 
could  be  solved  only  by  him ;  and  there  was  a 
thought  that  in  this  apparent  mockery  there  might 
be  some  hidden  meaning. 

But  this  notion  was  soon  dispelled.     They  saw 
Sagredo,  pale  as   death,  standing  with   his   eyes 
-fixed  on  the  blurred  painting,  with  agony  in  his 
face.     He  stood  thus  for  some  time,  staring  and  si- 
lent, and  at  length  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  cried.  "  I  never  knew  that 
I  had  an  enemy." 

At  this  the  whole  truth  burst  npon  them.  Sa- 
gredo had  an  enemy.  He  had  been  dealt  with 
most  foully.  Who  was  he  ?  Who  could  he  be  ? 
How  could  he  have  done  this  ?  Such  were  the 
indignant  questions  which  each  one  asked  the  other, 
and  the  murmurs  that  first  arose  deepened  into 
indignant  demands  for  an  investigation  into  this. 

The  janitor  was  summoned  and  interrogated. 
But  he  could  tell  nothing.  In  vain  they  threatened 
him  with  the  vengeance  of  the  law.  The  threat 
only  served  to  reduce  the  miserable  man  to  the 
borders  of  idiocy.  It  was  plain  that  he  knew  noth- 
ing about  it.  And  so  the  mystery  remained  as  dark 
as  ever;  ad  no  one  could  conceive  how  or  why 
this  cruel  deed  had  been  done. 
17 


258  THE   WINGED   LION. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  Urso  went  up  to  Sagredo, 
and  condoled  with  him. 

"vlt's  a  liendisli  act,"  said  he,  "  a  devilish  act. 
To  me,  of  course,  it  would  not  be  much ;  but  for 
you,  who  work  so  slowly,  it  must  be  hard.  Why, 
it  spoils  the  work  for  a  whole  year." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sagredo,  sadl}^,  "  a  whole  year's 
work  is  ruined  —  and  more  too." 

"  0,  well,"  said  Urso  ;  "  you  should  do  as  I  do  ; 
work  fast  —  don't  be  a  drudge."  ..,; 

Sagredo  shook  his  head  wearily.  i,  ;  ' 

"  Every  one,"  said  he,  "  must  work  in  accordance 
with  his  own  taste  and  temper." 

It  was,  as  Urso  said,  a  fiendish  act,  but  still  the 
deed  had  been  done,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
The  judges,  in  awarding  the  prize,  could  only  de- 
cide from  the  actual  pictures  before  them,  and 
could  not,  of  course,  take  any  notice  of  a  blurred 
canvas.  And  so  in  their  decision  they  awarded 
the  prize  to  Pezaro. 

No  sooner  was  this  announced  than  Pezaro  burst 
forth.  ^ 

"  No,"  said  he,  indignantly,  ^'  I'll  not  take  it.  I 
saw  Sagredo's  picture.  It  was  far —  far  —  better 
than  m.ine.  Sagredo  is  far  superior  to  me.  I  could 
be  willing  to  be  his  pupil,  except  that  I  know  that 
he  has  genius,  and  that  his  natural  gifts  can  never 
be  communicated  to  me.  Yet  still,  as  it  is,  I  have 
learned  much  from  him.  All  my  best  ideas  have 
come  from  him,  and  that  very  picture  of  mine  was 


THE   THREE   ARTISTS.  259 

suggested  by  liim.  I'll  never  take  the  prize  while 
he  is  here." 

At  such  an  outburst  of  generous  feeling  all  pres- 
ent were  deeply  moved,  and  there  was  not  a  little 
confusion.  Sagredo  pressed  the  hand  of  his  friend 
in  deep  emotion. 

"  No,  dear  friend,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  not  sac- 
rifice yourself  in  this  way.  Year  picture  deserves 
the  prize.  You  must  take  it.  "We  can  have  other 
chances  of  competing  in  future  years." 

As  he  spoke,  Titian  came  up. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  Pezaro ;  Sagredo  is  right. 
You  must  take  the  prize.  Your  picture  is  the  best 
here,  and  the  prize  must  be  yours,  and  yours  only. 
It  is  yours  fairly,  justly,  and  honorably.  But  more 
than  this  is  yours,  Pezaro  ;  for  no  prize  that  man 
can  offer  is  a  fitting  reward  for  your  chivalrous 
friendship,  your  splendid  self-abnegation,  and  your 
noble  generosity.  Take  the  prize,  Pezaro,  and  let 
the  world  learn  from  you  that  there  is  one  painter 
at  least  who  is  free  from  envy  and  jealousy  —  that 
curse  of  artists." 

As  he  spoke  these  last  words,  Titian  fixed  his 
eyes  on  Urso.  The  latter  quailed  before  his  glance, 
and  looked  away.  Shortly  afterwards  he  retired 
from  the  roora.-^^    .---..-.,-.-._-    .,j.  j:.^_  ,  _ 

And  so  Pezaro  took  the  prize. 

As  for  Sagredo,  this  mishap  did  not  greatly  harm 
him.  It  elicited  general  sympathy,  and  mad^ 
his  merits  better  known.     Other  occasions  came 


260 


THE   WINOED   LION. 


when  his  works  were   displayed   and   his  genius 
recognized. 

As  for  Urso,  ho  did  not  remain  long  in  Yenico. 
For  it  was  found  that  he  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  janitor,  and  used  to  visit  him  under  va- 
rious pretexts.  Moreover,  on  the  evening  of  the 
exhibition  he  had  persuaded  the  janitor  to  let  him 
see  the  pictures.  Permission  was  granted,  and  thus 
circumstances  all  pointed  towards  him  as  the  only 
possible  author  of  this  foul  deed.  Urso's  own  acts 
confii'med  the  general  suspicion,  for  shortly  after- 
wards he  quietly  retired  from  Venice,  and  was 
never  heard  of  again. 


THE   POLICE   AGAIN.  261 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Vernon  visits  the  Police.  —  Strange  Tidings.  —  Off"  to  the 
Hotel  Zeno.  —  Disappointment.  —  Clive  and  David  Jind 
out  the  Error  of  their  Wajs. 

FTER  their  return,  Yernon  went  at  once 
to  the  Police  Bureau  to  make  inquiries 
about  Miss  Lee.  Thus  far  he  had  recfived 
no  satisfaction ;  and  now  he  had  the  same  ill  for- 
tune. He  thought  this  very  strange,  and  it  seemed 
still  stranger  when,  on  further  questioning,  he  could 
obtain  no  information  whatever.  Either  the  Vene- 
tian police  were  unwilling  to  talk  of  their  proceed- 
ings to  outsiders,  or  else  they  had  utterly  failed  in 
the  business  for  which  he  wished  their  aid.  The 
latter  seemed  to  Vernon  to  be  the  true  statfj  of  the 
case,  and  he  began  to  feel  deep  vexation  at  the 
uselessness  of  the  aid  which  he  had  offered  to 
Gracie. 

While  he  was  talking,  there  came  in  the  official 
with  whom  Frank  and  Unqje  Moses  had  come  in 
contact.  Some  of  the  words  in  the  conversation 
attracted  his  attention,  and  he  came  towards 
Yernon. 

"  Pardon,  signer/'  said  he ;   "  but  are  you  the 


262  THE  WINGED   LION. 

gentleman  who  has  been  requesting  us  to  make 
inquiries  after  Miss  Lee  ?  " 

"Yes." 

«  At  Verona  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  do  you  know  that  there  are  others  hero 
who  have  been  requesting  our  aid  in  search  of  this 
same  Miss  Lee  ?  " 

"  Others  ! "  said  Vernon,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  them  ?  " 

"No." 

"  They  have  been  here  several  times.  I  wonder 
that  you  liave  not  met  them.  But  Venice  is  a  dif- 
ficult place  for  friends  to  meet,  unless  they  know 
one  another's  movements.  At  any  rate,  these  oth"* 
era  assert  that  Miss  Lee  is  in  Venice."        ^^ 

"In  Venice!"  - 

"  0,  yes  ;  they  know  it." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  And  did  they  ask  you  to  search 
after  her?  and  have  you  found  her?"  asked  Ver- 
non, eagerly. 

The  official  shook  his  head. 

"  We  have  found  nothing.  She  cannot  be  in 
Venice.  All  that  is  known  of  her  is,  that  she  was 
last  at  the  Hotel  Zeno."  v  :  . 

"  The  Hotel  Zeno  1 "  cried  Vernon,  in  fresh  sur- 
prise.    "  When  ?  " 

"  The  day  before  yesterday." 

"The  day  before  yesterday?"  said  Vernon. 
'<  That  was  impossible,  for  I  was  there  myself, 


STRANGE  TIDINGS.  263 

and  saw  nothing  of  her,  and  that  was  the  very 
time  when  I  first  came  here  to  ask  your  aid." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  official,  in  his  most  im- 
pressive tone,  "  Miss  Lee  was  at  the  notol  Zeno 
the  day  before  yesterday.  She  came  there  in 
company  with  two  boys.  After  staying  there, 
she  left  with  the  same  two  boys.  These  others, 
who  have  been  making  inquiries  here,  are  more 
eager  to  find  the  boys  than  they  are  to  find  Miss 
Lee." 

Upon  the  receipt  of  this  astonishing  information, 
Vernon  was  at  first  quite  confounded.  But  at 
length  the  facts  of  the  case  began  to  be  evident. 
Htb  saw  plainly  that  these  strangers,  who  had  come 
in  search  of  the  boys,  could  be  no  others  than  Uncle 
Moses,  with  Frank  and  Bob,  of  whom  he  had  heard 
often  enough  from  his  young  guests,  and  that  the 
boys  whom  they  were  seeking  must  be  David  and 
Clive ;  while  the  Miss  Lee,  for  whom  they  inquired, 
must  be  Gracie  herself,  and  not  the  aunt.  What  they 
could  want  with  Gracie  he  did  not  exactly  know  ; 
but  of  this  he  did  not  think.  Two  great  facts  were 
before  him,  one  being  that  Gracie 's  aunt  was  still 
among  the  missing,  and  the  other  that  Uncle 
Moses  had  hurried  to  Venice  in  pursuit  of  Clive 
and  David.  For  the  first  time  he  understood  the 
position  of  these  two,  and  saw  that  they  were  re- 
garded by  their  anxious  uncle  as  runaways. 

"  Then  you  h;     ^  not  found  these  boys." 

"  No,"  said  the  o. acial. 


264  THE  WINGED  LION. 

Upon  this  Yernon  explained  to  him  the  facts  of 
the  case. 

"  Where  are  these  people  staying?  "  ho  asked. 

"  At  the  Hotel  Zeno." 

"  Very  well ;  1  will  go  there  at  once .  with  the 
boys,  and  they  will  be  able  to  join  their  friends. 
There  need  be  no  more  trouble  about  that." 

"You  are  nv  .  acquainted  with  the  old  man, 
then?"  said  the  official. 

"No."  -        ■  -^ 

"  They  have  had  great  trouble  to-day,"  con- 
tinued the  official,  "  and  will  be  glad  to  see  you, 
if  you  go  with  the  boys." 

"  Trouble  ?  What  kind  of  trouble  ?  "  asked  Yer- 
non. 

The  official  went  on  to  tell  them  about  the  arrest 
of  Bob.  Yernon  listened  with  a  mixture  of  sur- 
prise and  inorriment. 

"  But  I  did  not  know  that  swimming  in  the  canal 
is  against  the  laws,"  said  he.  *'  I  swim  in  the  ca- 
nals constantly,  whenever  I  have  time  to  go  out  to 
Lido,  or  some  other  place." 

"  0,  it's  not  against  the  laws  ;  but  on  the  Grand 
Canal  no  one  can  swim  after  a  certain  hour,  and 
this  boy  was  beyond  the  time.  Besides,  when  the 
men  chased  him,  they  at  first  intended  only  to  warn 
him,  but  he  gave  them  so  much  trouble  that  they 
arrested  him." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  learned  now ;  so 
Vernon  returned  home. 


oracie's  disappointment.  265 

Gracie  came  to  meet  him,  looking  at  him  with 
anxious  inquiry. 

Vernon  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"  What !  "  said   she.     "  Have   you  heard   noth- 

ing?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

At  this  tears  started  into  Gracie's  eyes. 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  Vernon,  tenderly.  "  I'll  go 
myself  to-morrow.  We  can  arrange  all  about  it 
to-night.  I'm  of  the  opinion  that  the  police  have 
neglected  the  business.  I'm  sure,  ^'f  they  had 
tried,  they  might  have  learned  something.  They 
could,  at  least,  have  found  out  whether  she  is  in 
Verona  or  not.  But  they  know  nothing  at  all,  and 
it  is  just  as  if  they  had  not  sent  any  messenger. 
And  I'm  half  inclined  to  think  that  they  did  not. 
The  fact  is,  it  was  my  own  stupidity.  I  should 
have  feed  them  well,  but  I  forgot ;  and  then  I 
haven't  shaken  off  my  American  ideas  about  fee- 
ing. It  doesn't  come  natural  to  us.  We  never 
fee  any  one  in  America,  and  it  takes  a  long  time 
for  one  to  get  into  the  habit  of  it  here  ;  besides, 
when  one  is  at  all  occupied  with  other  thoughts, 
he  forgets  all  his  new  feeing  habit.  But  don't 
look  so  sad,"  continued  Vernon,  in  an  anxious 
voice.  "  I'll  go  myself.  I'll  do  all  that  is  possi- 
ble, and  I  won't  come  back  to  you  again  until  I 
bring  your  aunt  with  me." 

At  this  a  smile  broke  through  Gracie's  tears, 
and  she  murmured  some  low,  sweet  words  of 
thanks. 


266  THE  WINGED   LION. 

After  this,  Vernon  hastened  to  acquaint  Clive 
and  David  with  the  extraordinary  news  that  Uncle 
Moses,  with  Frank  and  Bob,  was  liere  in  Venice, 
and  had  been  seeking  after  them.  lie  also  told 
the  story  of  Bob's  adventure  with  the  police. 
This  intelligence  filled  David  and  Clive  with 
varied  feelings.  Astonishment  at  finding  Uncle 
Moses  here  was  followed  by  the  sudden  discovery 
that  they  had  acted  towards  him  in  a  way  that 
seemed  both  inconsiderate  and  heartless.  The 
remorse  which  they  felt  for  this  was,  however, 
much  mitigated  by  the  idea  of  Bob's  bath  ;  for 
they  saw  only  the  humorous  side  of  this  adven- 
ture, and  did  not  imagine  what  anguish  of  soul  it 
had  caused  to  all  concerned. 

But  the  one  thought  now  was,  that  Uncle  Moses 
was  here  in  Venice  ;  and  their  one  impulse  was,  to 
hurry  immediately  to  the  Hotel  Zuno.  All  could 
then  bo  explained ;  and  he,  in  his  joy  at  finding 
them,  would  forgive  them  all.  Vernon  also  was 
anxious  to  see  Uncle  Moses,  for  it  seemed  to  him 
that  his  inquiries  after  Miss  Leo  indicated  some 
knowledge,  on  his  part,  of  Grade's  aunt.  It  was 
quite  possible  that  he  had  met  her,  and  while  seek- 
ing after  Clive  and  David,  had  also  included  Gracio 
in  the  search. 

This  was  all  explained  to  Grade,  who  felt  sure 
that  it  must  be  so.  Uncle  Moses,  she  thought, 
could  not  have  mentioned  her  to  the  police^  un- 
less he  had  met  with  her  aunt,  and  had  been  com- 


THE  landlord's  STATEMENT.  267 

missioned  by  lior  to  do  so.  And  thus  it  became 
highly  necessary,  for  many  reasons,  to  see  Uncle 
Moses  as  soon  as  possible. 

Taking  Ciivo  and  David  with  liim,  Vernon  now 
went  to  the  Hotel  Zeno.  They  all  expected  to  see 
the  objects  of  their  search,  and  were  full  of  hope 
and  pleasant  anticipation  ;  but  these  feelings  were 
in  an  instant  dispelled  by  the  first  answer  which 
they  received  to  their  eager  question. 

They  had  gone  —  they  had  left  the  city. 

"Gone?     Where?" 

"To  Verona." 

"Verona!" 

The  disappointment  was,  indeed,  great  and  hard 
to  bear.  All  the  self-reproach  and  remorse  that 
their  conduct  might  cause  were  now  felt  by  Clive 
and  David,  as  they  stood  and  stared  at  each  other 
in  consternation. 

The  landlord  went  on  to  explain  all.  He  said 
that  they  had  arrived  on  the  previous  day,  and 
had  inquired  anxiously  about  Clive  and  David ; 
that  they  had  then  gone  to  the  police  to  get  as- 
sistance towards  finding  them ;  that  the  old  man 
was  very  sad,  but  the  boys  were  indifferent.  Then 
he  alluded  to  Bob's  arrest,  and  described  the  anx- 
iety of  Uncle  Moses  and  Frank ;  and  then  said  that 
after  Bob's  deliverance  they  had  all  hurried  away, 
still  hoping  to  find  Clive  and  David,  and  thinking 
that  Verona  would  be  the  most  likely  place  in  which 
to  discover  them. 


268  THE  WINGED   LION. 

The  landlord's  information  completed  the  dejec- 
tion of  Clive  and  David.  They  now  understood  all. 
They  perceived  that  Uncle  Moses  had  been  tor- 
mented by  his  anxiety  ever  since  they  had  left 
him ;  that  he  had  left  Florence  before  the  time 
mentioned,  and  must  have  followed  close  oi.  their 
trpck,  as  he  had  been  only  one  day  behind  them. 
How  he  had  managed  to  track  them  was  not  a 
difficult  question  to  answer.  He  had  heard  of  them 
at  the  different  hotels,  and  had  tracked  them,  to  the 
Hotel  Zeno.  There  he  had  b  n  at  fault ;  and  then 
thinking  that  they  were  still  wandermg  about,  he 
had  hurried  away  to  Verona.  Formerly  they  had 
been  accustomed  to  laugh  at  the  anxiety  of  Uncle 
Moses  ;  but  now,  knowing  as  they  did  his  gentle 
and  affectionate  nature,  they  were  shocked  at  the 
thought  of  the  misory  which  must  have  been  in- 
flicted upon  him  by  their  own  hasty  and  incon- 
siderate acts.  They  saw  that  while  they  had  been 
intent  only  upon  their  own  enjoyment,  and  had 
been  giving  themselves  up,  without  a  thought  of 
others,  to  their  own  selfish  pleasure,  their  poor 
dear  Uncle  Moses  had  been  following  after  them 
from  place  to  place,  seeking  them,  but  finding  them 
not.  What  was  worst  of  all,  they  saw  that  even 
row  he  was  far  away  at  Yerona ;  there,  as  else- 
where, carrying  on  his  search  after  them,  but  only 
to  meet  with  fresh  disappointments,  worse  than 
any  which  he  had  hitherto  encountered.  They 
felt  now  '»,s  if  they  could  never  forgive  themselves ; 


ORACIE   A    COMFORTER.  269 

o 

and  as  if  they  could  never  rest  until  they  had  hur- 
ried after  him,  and  begged  his  forgiveness  on  their 
knees.     . 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  learned  at  the 
Hotel  Zeno,  and  so  they  all  returned.  Vernon 
was  deeply  disappointed,  because  he  had  hoped  to 
obtain  some  news  to  bring  back  to  Gracie,  with 
which  he  might  cheer  her  ;  while  Clive  and  David 
were  both  disappointed  and  distressed.  Fortu- 
nately for  Vernon,  he  had  forborne  to  say  anything 
to  Gracie,  before  starting,  about  his  hope  of  hearing 
from  Uncle  Moses  some  news  of  her  aunt ;  and  as 
she  had  expected  nothing,  she  could  not  be  disap- 
pointed. •■':'■■  -J: 

On  reaching  th*^  house,  Vernon  repeated  to 
Gracie  hij  promise  that  he  would  go  himself  in 
search  of  her  aunt ;  and  this  seemed  to  give  her 
consolation.  Besides,  she  was  drawn  away  from 
her  own  troubles  by  the  sight  of  the  great  distress 
of  Clive  and  David.  She  tried  to  console  them, 
and  spoke  to  them  words  of  hope  and  encourage- 
ment. 

'*  How  funny  it  all  seems  I "  said  she.  "  We  were 
all  runJ^.Vv  ays  —  all  three  of  us.  It's  the  old  prov- 
erb —  Birds  of  a  feathur  flock  together.  I  didn't 
know  that  you  were  runaways,  but  I  must  have 
felt  it ;  and  that  must  have  been  the  reason  why 
my  heart  warmed  towards  you.  Misery  lovea 
company,  as  another  proverb  says ;  so,  boys,  the 
best  thing  that  we  can  do  is  to  sit  in  a  corner  io- 


270  THE   WINGED   LION. 

gether,  and  have  a  good  cry.  Of  course  you  won't 
cry,  because  you're  so  proud ;  but  I'm  not  proud 
a  bit,  and  I  mean  to  cry  my  eyes  out." 

"  If  you  are  going  to  Verona,"  said  Clive,  "  may 
we  not  go  with  you?" 

"  What  good  would  that  do  ?  "  asked  Vernon. 

"  Why,  we  should  meet  Uncle  Moses." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  he  will  be  at  Verona  by 
the  time  that  you  would  get  there  ?  " 

''  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  I've  been  thinking  of  that^  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  he  would  not  stay  there  longer  than  he 
could  help.  He  arrived  there  this  evening.  He 
has  gone  to  the  two  chief  hotels,  the  only  places 
where  he  would  be  likely  to  find  you,  or  you  would 
be  likely  to  stay.  He  has  found  that  you  are  not 
there.  So  he  has  already  concluded  that  you  are 
net  at  Verona,  and  is,  perhaps,  just  now  debating 
with  Frank  and  Bob  about  the  most  likely  course 
that  you  could  have  taken^  in  your  erratic  wander- 
ings. And  Uncle  Moses  is  all  at  sea  ;  but  there  is 
a  "fierce  argument  between  Frank  and  Bob ;  one  of 
whom,  Frank,  is  for  going  back  to  Florence,  and 
waiting  till  they  hear  from  you ;  while  Bob  is  eager 
to  go  on  to  Milan." 

At  this  fancy  sketch,  Clive  and  David  gave  a 
sickly  smile.  They  were  not  in  the  humor  for  fun. 
Their  distress  was  too  deep. 

"  But  we  could  go  with  you,"  said  David,  "  and 
find  them,  wherever  they  are." 


THE  DECISION. 


271 


"  No,"  said  Vernon.  "  Let  me  go  alone.  Your 
best  place  is  here.  I'll  find  Uncle  Moses,  and 
send  him  here  to  you.  You've  been  wandering 
about  long  enough.  Stay  here  by  all  means,  in 
one  fixed  place,  till  you  hear  from  him  or  from  me. 
That's  your  safest  plan." 

''  But  wouldn't  it  be  well  to  telegraph  ?  " 
"  0,  most  excellent,  if  you  only  knew  where  to 
telegi-aph.  But  where  ?  that  is  the  question.  To 
Verona  ?  But  by  to-morrow  morning  they'll  be  on 
the  wing.  To  Milan  ?  But  they  may  go  to  Flor- 
ence.  To  Florence  ?  But  they  may  come  here  to 
Venice.  You  see  it's  all  uncertain,  and  the  only 
thing  you  can  do  how  is,  to  stand  still  and  let  them 

come  to  you."  - 

It  seemed  very  hard  to  Clive  and  David,  yet 
Vernon's  words  were  unanswerable,  and  so  they 
concluded  to  leave  all  to  him,  aiid  do  just  what 
he  said.     ' 


)  '.'•> 


272  THE  WINGED  LION. 


•  » 


:       CHAPTER  XX. 

•  .    ^  :  '  ..,:-  '-..-.i ''.}  !. 

T/te  End  of  Happiness.  —  The  cheerful  Vernon.  —  Grade's 
Resolution.  —  A  lost  Day.  —  Verona.  —  Inquiries.  —  The 
tight  Track.  —  The  Amphitheatre  at  Sunset.  —  An  inter' 
esting  Conversation.     ■    :)  ~     J    . ' ;  ,h  ;  "'i- 


.  itJ     i>».>r\" 


ND  thus  all  their  happiness  had  come  to  an 
end.  There  were  no  more  pleasant  expe- 
ditions about  the  wonderful  city  ;  no  more 
seasons  of  dreamy  enjoyment ;  no  more  wander- 
ings through  long  galleries,  or  under  lofty  cathe- 
dral arches.  All  this  had  come  to  an  end,  and  they 
all  had  something  to  think  of  which  was  far  differ- 
ent from  Venetian  stories. 

That  evening  was  of  itself  enough  to  show  the 
greatness  of  the  change  that  had  taken  place. 
There  was  no  chance  for  Vernon  to  exhibit  his  pic- 
tures, and  no  one  asked  him  to  read  any  of  his 
stories.  He  tried  to  speak  in  a  cheerful  way  to  his 
guests,  but  his  words  had  no  effect ;  and  Gracie 
on  the  one  hand,  and  David  and  Clive  on  the  other, 
found  it  impossible  to  rouse  themselves  froin  the 
deep  gloom  into  which  they  had  fallen. 

Still  Vernon  persisted  in  his  well-meant  efforts 
to  cheer  up  his  melancholy  guests,  and  he  directed 
his  attention  more  particularly  towards  Gracie. 


VERNON  CHEERFUL.  273 

"  I'm  quite  sure,"  said  he,  "  that  the  police  have 
done  nothing.  It  was  all  owing  to  my  own  unfor- 
tunate absence  of  mind.  I  was  so  engrossed  with 
other  tilings  that  I  really  forgot  all  about  the  all- 
important  fee.  Nobody  in  all  Italy  will  think  of 
doing  anything  without  a  preliminary  fee.  It's  the 
same  all  over  Europe.  In  America  it's  totally  dif- 
ferent, and  it's  hard  for  an  American  to  get  into  the 
way  of  it.  Aside  from  its  strangeness,  there  seems 
to  an  American  something  degrading  about  it ;  and 
so.  you  see,  it's  a  long  time  before  one  can  grow  to 
have  one's  wits  about  him  in  this  respect.  0,  3^ea, 
I'm  quite  certain  that  this  is  the  whole  trouble. 
That  accounts  for  their  indifference,  their  igno- 
rance, their  assurances  of  pretended  messages  and 
messengers,  with  their  absolute  inaction.  They're 
not  humbugs ;  they  are  merely  waiting  for  their 
fee.  At  all  events,  what's  done  can't  be  undone  ; 
and  so  I'll  go  myself.  The  Venetian  police  shan't 
get  any  fees  from  me.  I'll  go  to  Verona,  and  search 
for  myself,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  believe  that 
I'll  do  better  than  any  police  agent,  fee  and  all. 

"  Now,  as  to  your  aunt,  I  really  don't  think  that 
you  need  worry  so  much.  It's  only  fifty-six  hours 
since  you  left  her.  It  was  the  day  before  yester- 
day. Fifty-six  hours  I  The  day  before  yesterday  1 
What's  that  ?  Why,  it's  nothing  at  all.  You  speak 
as  though  fifty- six  months  had  passed.  The  time 
'seems  long  to  you,  I  dare  say,"  continued  Vernon, 
reproachf"^^y.  "  I  dare  say  it  seems  like  fifty- six 
18 


274  THE  WINGED   LION, 

years ;  but  to  me  it  seems  like  fifty-six  mimites. 
At  any  rate,  you  have  only  lost  your  aunt  for  a 
few  hours.  She's  in  Verona  now,  you  may  be  sure. 
She's  waiting  quietly  there  till  you  come  back.  I 
clare  say  she  is  a  little  worried  about  you,  for  fear 
that  3^ou  have  come  to  harm ;  but  as  for  herself,  she^a 
all  right.  She's  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Tour,  or  the 
Hotel  Deux  Tours  —  one  o  the  other ;  it  don't 
matter  which.  All  she  wants  is  to  know  that  you 
are  well ;  and  as  you  know  yourself  that  you  are 
well,  why  worry  about  your  aunt  ?  I  mean  to  go 
to  Verona,  and  go  straight  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Tour, 
and  ask  for  Miss  Lee.  I  shall  see  her  at  once.  I 
shall  tell  her  how  I  found  you,  ask  her  to  take  my 
arm,  and  we  shall  come  back  by  return  train.  She 
will  be  here  by  evening,  and  you  will  wonder  how 
in  the  world  you  managed  to  make  such  a  heap  of 
trouble  about  a  mere  trifle." 

These  were  brave  words.  Gracie  smiled,  but 
the  smile  did  not  hide  the  anxiety  which  still  re- 
mained within  her  heart,  undiminished. 

On  the  following  morning,  Vernon  was  preparing 
for  his  departure,  when  Gracie  informed  him  that 
she  had  a  request  to  make.        *    '■ 

"  I've  been  awake  all  night,'*  said  Gracie,  "  and 
I'm  so  awfully  worried  that  I  cannot  endure  it ;  and 
I  cannot  bear  to  stay  here  any  longer,  and  I've 
been  speaking  to  your  mother  about  it,  and  I  want 
to  go  to  Verona  myself." 

"  With  me  !  "  said  Vernon,  as  a  flush  of  joy  over- 
spread bis  face. 


gracie's  resolution.  275 

"  Yes/*  said  Gracio,  "  and  I've  boon  talking  with 
your  mother,  and  she  has  ofTered  to  go  with  me  ; 
and  1  thought  I'd  mention  it  to  you,  so  as  to  know 
whether  there  is  anything  to  prevent  it,  or  if  it 
will  interfere  with  your  search." 

"  Interfere  ! "  cried  Vernon,  in  the  utmost  joy. 
"  Interfere  !  Why,  it  will  be  the  very  thing.  And 
will  mother  really  go  ?  " 

"  She.  said  —  as  I  am  so  worried  —  that  she 
would  go  with  me ;  and  you  know  the  boys  can 
stay  here  all  the  same,  or  go  with  us." 

"  The  boys  —  O,  they  must  stay  here,"  said  Yer- 
non.  "  The  best  thing  for  them  now  is  to  stay  in 
this  one  place  and  wait.  But  you  !  and  will  you. 
reallv  come  with  me?  and  will  mother  come  ?  O, 
that  will  be  more  than  I  dared  hope  for.  And  I 
shan't  have  to  leave  you,  after  all,  and  we  can 
make  our  search  together." 

Vernon  was  quite  beside  himself  with  joy  at  this 
proposal.  Gracie  had  made  it  out  of  her  deep 
anxiety  ;  but  to  Vernon  it  seemed  the  highest  hap- 
piness. He  loved  so  much  to  be  with  Gracie  that 
this  journey  had  seemed  almost  intolerable  ;  but 
now  the  dreaded  parting  need  not  take  place,  for 
she,  too,  was  coming. 

Clive  and  David  heard  of  this,  but  they  had 
nothing  to  say  They  both  felt  guilty ;  and  as  they 
had  sinned  thi  jugh  wilfulness  and  thoughtlessness, 
they  now  felt  ready  to  resign  thought  and  will  to 
another.     They  accepted  the  situation,  therefore, 


276  THE  WINGED   LION. 

with  resignation,  and  in  silence,  and  tried  to  con- 
sole themselves  with  the  hope  that  it  would  be  all 
for  the  best. 

This  new  arrangement,  however,  made  very  se- 
rious alterations  in  Vernon's  plans.  For  Mrs.  Ver- 
non was  a  quiet  lady,  who  travelled  but  little,  and 
so  hated  to  move  from  her  home  that  the  prospect 
of  such  a  thing  never  failed  to  fill  her  with  confu- 
sion. On  the  present  occasion,  the  journey  before 
her,  short  though  it  was,  served  to  completely 
bewilder  her.  She  was  reduced  to  a  state  of  ner- 
vous trepidation  and  fidgety  anxiety  about  her 
preparation^..  The  train  was  to  leave  at  ten 
o'clock ;  and  in  her  eagerness  to  make  ready  she 
utterly  broke  down  from  overwork  and  nervous- 
ness. Then  she  tried  to  rally ;  and  then  new 
trouble  arose  from  her  own  weakness,  and  she 
implored  her  son  to  go  witliout  her.  But  Vernon 
would  not ;  for  upon  her  going  depended  Gracie's 
going,  and  he  would  not  leave  now  without  her 
sweet  companionship.  There  were  two  other 
trains,  one  at  three,  and  another  at  seven ;  but  for 
the  remainder  of  that  day  Mrs.  Vernon  was  unable 
to  travel,  and  the  end  of  it  all  Avas,  that  they  had  to 
postpone  it  until  the  following  day. 

They  had  thus  lost  a  whole  day  ;  but  Gracie  felt 
consoled  at  the  thought  that  she  herself  would, 
after  all,  be  able  to  go,  and  Vernon  did  not  care  for 
the  loss  of  days,  so  long  as  Gracie  was  with  him. 
Fortuna.  )ly  Mrs.  Vernon  succeeded  in  overcoming 


ARRIVAL   AT   VERONA.  277 

her  nervousness,  and  in  efTecting  her  preparations, 
so  that  on  the  lollowing  day  they  all  loft  by  the  ten 
o'clock  train.  David  and  Clive  went  with  them  to 
the  railway  station,  and  bade  them  farewell  with 
melancholy  faces.  They  knew  that  they  had  dono 
wrong,  and  that  they  were  now  suffering  the  pen- 
alty of  such  wrong  doing,  and  could  only  hope  that 
Uncle  Moses  would  be  restored  to  them,  in  which 
case  each  one  inwardly  vowed  that  he  would  for 
the  future  do  exactly  as  Uncle  Moses  said,  no  mat- 
ter how  much  it  might  interfere  with  their  private 
inclinations. 

The  journey  proved  so  pleasant  to  Vernon  and 
to  Gracie  that  both  were  sorry  when  it  came  to  an 
end.  Vernon  was  happy  because  Gracie  was  by 
his  side,  and  Gracie  was  happy  because  she  felt  aa 
though  she  was  with  every  mile  drawing  nearer  to 
her  aunt.  All  her  anxiety  had  now  passed  away  ; 
or  else  it  had  been  postponed  to  some  mor«  con- 
venient season.  Poor  Mrs.  Vernon,  who  had  come 
as  chaperon,  had  not  slept  during  the  past  night ; 
and  she  made  amends  for  this  by  sleeping  ii-.x'ough- 
out  the  whole  journey,  which  left  Vernon  free  to 
say  many  things  that  he  might  not  have  said  if  she 
had  been  awake. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  Verona,  and  went  to 
the  Hotel  de  la  Tour,  where  they  put  up.  Here 
Vernon  at  once  asked  if  any  one  had  been  stop- 
ping there  by  the  name  of  Lee  —  Signora  Lee  —  an 
American  lady. 


278  THE   WINGED   LION. 

No  such  person  liad  boon  stopping  there. 

This  was  very  dislicartening  information ;  but 
Vernon  was  prepared  for  this,  and  went  off  at  once 
to  the  Hotel  Deux  Tours.  Here,  liowever,  he  was 
equally  unsuccessful,  and  found  tliat  nothing  was 
known  about  any  such  person.  After  this  he  went 
to  many  other  hotels  and  lodging-liousea,  thinking 
no  place  too  unlikely  for  an  inexperienced  stranger 
to  stop  at ;  but  in  spite  of  this  he  had  the  deep 
mortification  to  find  his  comprehensive  search  of  no 
avail  whatever,  ft)r  he  could  not  discover  the  slight- 
est trace  of  the  party  in  question.  So  the  end  of 
it  all  was,  that  he  had  to  como  back  to  his  friends 
with  the  sad  confession  that  thus  far  he  had  been 
baffled.  This  intelligence  gave  the  deepest  pain 
to  Gracie,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  was  now 
thoroughly  alarmed. 

"  I  will  see  the  police,"  said  Vernon.  "  This 
time  I  w^ill  go  with  them  myself.  We  will  tele- 
graph all  over  Italy.  Something  must  and  shall  be 
found  out.''     :f  .  --  .    ;    i 

He  now  went  to  have  another  conversation  with 
the  landlord.  »       .     <  i.^: 

"  Have  you  had  any  ladies  here  lately?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  a  lady  was  here  ;  she  went  away  this 
morning.  She  was  a  foreigner,  a  Russian,  I  think  j 
but  she  spoke  English." 

"  0,  she  spoke  English  —  did  she  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  eome  friends  of  hers  came  here.  They 
were  English.     She  went  away  with  them." 


MADAME  "  MISSOLI."  279 

"  English  friends.  Ah  I  "  said  Vernon  j  "  and  you 
think  she  was  Russian." 

The  thing  had  very  little  interest  for  him  now, 
but  he  asked  once  more. 

"What  was  the  lady's  name?"  ,  . 

**  Madame  Missoli,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  Madame  Missoli  !  1  never  heard  of  that  name," 
said  Vernon.  Jt  was  i)lain  to  him  that  this  lady 
was  of  no  interest  to  him.  Thus  far  he  had  for- 
gotten about  Uncle  Moses  and  the  boys,  but  now 
it  occurred  to  him  to  make  inquiries  after  them. 
One  of  the  objects  of  his  search  had  failed,  but  ho 
might  try,  after  all,  to  seek  out  the  other.  So  he 
asked,  — 

"  Have  you  had  any  Americans  here  lately  ?  " 

"  Americans  ?  "  said  the  landlord.  "  Yes.  We 
had  some.  They  came  the  day  before  yesterday. 
I  don't  know  whether  they  were  Americans  or 
English.  They  were  the  ones  who  went  away 
with  Madame  Missoli.     An  old  man  and  two  boys." 

At  this  Vernon  eagerly  interrupted  him.  An 
old  man  and  two  boys  !  Evidently  they  were  Un- 
cle Moses  and  Frank  and  Bob.  Further  questions 
made  this  certain,  and  all  doubt  was  driven  away 
by  the  landlord  repeating  their  names. 

With  this  there  came  another  discovery.  Tho 
name  Missoli :  it  explained  itself.  It  was  the  Ital- 
ian version  of  Miss  Lee.  How  stupid  of  him  not 
to  perceive  this  before  !  Yes.  It  must  be  the 
missing  lady  ;  and  somehow  or  other  Uncle  Moses 


280  THE  WINGED  LION. 

and  the  boys  had  made  her  acquaintance,  and  they 
had  gone  away  together.  He  now  asked  the  land- 
lord to  describe  the  personal  appearance  of  Madame 
Missoli,  and  he  found  that  it  accorded  perfectly 
with  Grracie's  description  of  her  aunt. 

"  Where    did  the}'^  go  ? "  li®  asked,  eagerly,  at 
length,  when  his  last  doubt  had  vanished.         ...,  .^ 
"To  Venice."  .  ^  .1.; 

"Venice?     And  when?"  ,.,.;« 

"  This  morning,"  said  tlie  landlord.  „.-,  • 

"  Do  you  know  where  they  intended  to  put  up  ?  " 
"  0,  3^es  ;  it  was  the  Hotel  Zeno."  ^  ^  - 

Vernon  was  now  completely  overwhelmed  by  all 
this  sudden  and  unexpected  rush  of  good  news. 
There  was  nothing  further  to  ask  or  to  do.  The 
only  thing  left  now  was  to  go  back  to  Venice 
as  fast  as  possible.  So  lie  left  the  landlord  ab- 
ruptly, and  hurried  to  tell  the  good  news  to  Gracie. 
In  a  few  words  all  was  made  known ;  and  Gracie 
was  lifted  out  of  the  depths  of  despair  to  joy  and 
hope.  But  there  was  one  drav/back  yet.  To  go 
back  to  Venice  that  day  was  not  possible.  Ver- 
non's search  had  taken  up  much  time.  The  last 
train  had  gone,  and  they  would  have  to  wait  until 
the  following  day.  Gracie  therefore  was  forced  to 
restrain  her  impatience,  and  content  herself  with 
the  prospect  that  now  lay  before  her. 

There  was  an  hour  or  two  of  daylight  still  be- 
fore them,  and  Vernon  proposed  that  they  should 
go  out  and  see  the  city.    Mrs.  Vernon  excused  her- 


THE   AMPHITHEATRE.  281 

self  on  the  ground  of  fatigue ;  but  Gracie  was  glad 
to  go,  and  the  two  set  forth.  The  load  which  for  a 
whole  day  had  pressed  so  heavily  on  Gracie's  mind 
was  now  removed,  and  she  resumed  all  her  usual 
gayety  and  sprightliness.  All  seemed  fair  and 
bright.  She  lelt  certain  of  meeting  Avith  her  aunt. 
It  needed  only  one  day  more,  and  the  painful  sep- 
aration would  be  ended.  She  also  \ery  naturdlly 
felt  as  if  Vernon  had  done  all  this,  and  amid  all  her 
sprightliness  there  was  evident  in  her  manner  the 
tenderness  of  gratitude. 

They  walked  about  the  city.  They  saw  its  ruins, 
its  cathedral,  its  public  places,  and  at  length  found 
themselves  in  the  grand  old  amphitheatre.  Climb- 
ing up  the  steps,  they  seated  themselves,  and  looked 
around  upon  the  scene.  The  sight  which  met  their 
eyes  was  an  impressive  one,  and  one  which  was 
not  soon  to  be  forgotten.  The  sun  was  low  in  the 
west,  and  the  arena  was  wrapped  in  gloom  ;  but 
the  eastern  circle  of  seats  in  the  upper  tiers  was 
all  crimson  in  its  glowing  rays.  Their  view  was 
bounded  by  the  walls  of  the  amphitheatre,  and 
they  sat  for  some  time  in  silence.  i  ;•: 

"  I'm  glad  that  you  are  happy,"  said  Yernon ; 
"  but  I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  sad  enougli  to-morrow. 
The  arrival  of  your  aunt  will  put  an  end  to  all  our 
wanderings  about  Venice.  And  they  were  so  de- 
lightful ! " 

"  They  were  very  pleasant,"  said  Gracie,  in  a 
low  voice.     "  And  I'm  sure  I  hope  we  shall  see 


282  THE  WINGED    LION. 

wore  of  Venice,  and  that  you  will  be  at  leisure, 
Mr.  Vernon." 

"  At  leisure  !  "  said  Vernon.  "  I  shall  have  noth- 
ing but  leisure  as  long  as  you  are  in  Venice.  And 
you  are  expecting  your  uncle,  too.'^ 

"  Yes,"  said  Gracie,  in  a  low  voice.  "  He  was 
to  be  in  Venice  on  the  fourth.  This  is  the  sixth. 
He  ought  to  be  there  now,  I  should  think ;  but  if 
not,  why,  we  can  wait." 

"  Won't  I  do  ?  "  asked  Vernon,  very  abruptly. 

"  You  I  "  said  Gracie,  in  surprise. 

"  Yea,"  said  Vernon.  "  Won't  you  let  me  be 
your  uncle  ?  your  guardian  ?  anything  ?  You  see 
how  it  is.  I  can't  live  without  you,  Gracie.  You 
must  see  —  how  —  how  —  how  dearly  I  —  I  love 
you  ;  "  and  as  he  said  this,  his  hand  closed  around 
that  xjf  Gracie,  which  did  not  withdraw  itself.  "  0, 
Gracie,'^  he  continued,  "  I  cannot  bear  to  have  you 
go  away  and  leave  me.  You  won't  —  will  you  ? 
You  will  stay  with  me  —  won't  you  ?  You  will  be 
my  own  Gracie  —  won't  you,  as  long  as  you  live  ?  " 

What  little  Gracio  said  to  all  tl.>is  need  not  be 
repeated  here.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  it  must  have 
been  quite  satisfactory ;  for  when  they  returned  to 

the  hotel  Vernon's  face  was  radiant  with  joy. 

# 


^^;v>. 


K     '-■  ■'■■,■>" 


.;  ■*"'*, 


HOTEL  DEUX  TOURS.  283 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  viournfiil  Uncle  Moses.  —  Marius  amoiig  the  Ruins  of 
Carthage.  —  Uncle  Moses  startled.  —  A  new  Acquaint- 
ance, 

MEANWHILE  Uncle  Moses,  with  Frank  and 
Bob,  had  arrived  at  Verona,  as  has  been 
said.  They  put  up  at  the  Hotel  do  la 
Tour.  He  ;e,  first  of  all,  they  asked  after  Clive  and 
David.  I^othing  was  known  about  them.  Then 
they  made  inquiries  about  a  lady  named  Lee ;  but 
here,  too,  they  were  equally  unsuccessful.  Then 
they  went  off  to  the  Hotel  Deux  Tours,  another 
establishment  which  contends  with  the  Hotel  de  la 
Tour  for  the  honor  of  being  the  first  in  Yerona. 
The  latter,  however,  makes  a  greater  bid  for  Eng- 
lish travel,  and  has  a  more  sounding  name,  since  its 
full  title  is  Hotel  de  la  Tour  de  Londres.  But  their 
search  at  the  Hotel  Deux  Tours  was  as  unsuccess- 
ful as  the  search  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Tour,  and  they 
returned  somewhat  disconsolate,  and  passed  the 
night. 

^*  I'll  tell  you,  Uncle  Moses,"  said  Frank  on  the 
following  day,  "  what  we  had  better  do.  We  ought 
to  go  about  and  see  all  the  sights  of  Verona.     If 


284  THE   WINGED   LION. 

tlio  boys  are  here,  we  shall  be  certain  to  find  them, 
for  they,  too,  will  be  going  about  sight-seeing." 

To  this  proposal  Uncle  Moses  had  no  objections 
to  make  ;  and  as  he  preferred  being  with  the  boys 
to  staying  at  the  hotel,  he  accompanied  them. 

Going  along  the  main  street,  they  came  to  a 
square  which  was  used  as  a  market-place,  and  con- 
tained many  stalls,  where  all  sorts  of  fruits  and 
vegetables  were  exposed  for  sale,  the  venders 
being  chiefly  old  women.  At  one  end  of  it  stood  a 
stately  palace.  On  referring  to  their  guide-books 
they  found  that  this  was  in  ancient  days  the  Forum 
of  the  city.  .  ,.      .•,     ; 

Leaving  this,  they  turned  down  a  street,  and 
before  long  they  found  themselves  in  front  of  a 
strange-looking  wall  which  ran  across  the  way.  It 
was  about  fifty  feet  high,  and  there  were  two  gates 
in  it,  and  a  number  of  windows.  It  had  an  unmis- 
takable look  of  Roman  workmanship,  and  on  re- 
ferring to  the  guide-book  they  found  that  it  was 
part  of  an  ancient  work'  raised  by  the  Emperor 
Constantine.  As  a  relic  of  the  past,  it  was,  un- 
doubtedly, interesting,  although  in  itself  it  pos- 
sessed but  little  beauty.  Proceeding  still  farther, 
they  turned  down  anotiier  street,  and  all  at  once 
came  full  in  view  of  the  greatest'  curiosity  of  Ve- 
rona, and  one  of  the  most  interesting  monuments 
of  ancient  Rome  now  in  existence.  This  was  the 
famous  Amphitheatre,  which,  in  point  of  size,  ranks 
next  to  the  Coliseum  of  Rome,  while  in  preserva- 


THE  AMPHITHEATRE.  285 

tion  it  is  far  superior  to  all  other  similar  remains. 
They  went  towards  this,  and  examined  it  closely. 
The  outer  wall  was  all  gone,  except  a  fragment 
three  stories  in  height,  raised  on  arclies  one  above 
the  other,  "^he  rest  of  the  building  was  only  two 
stories  high,  and  seemed  much  dilapidated.  But 
when  they  had  entered  and  looked  upon  the  inte- 
rior, they  were  filled  with  astonishment.  They  ex- 
pected to  behold  a  scene  of  ruin  like  that  of  the 
Coliseum,  instead  of  which  they  found  everything 
in  a  state  of  preservation  almost  perfect.  All 
around  extended  the  vast  circles  of  seats  rising  one 
behind  the  other  far  on  high,  capable  still  of  hold- 
ing a  multitude  as  large  as  those  which  once  as- 
sembled here,  in  olden  days,  to  see  the  gladiatorial 
combats.  The  cause  of  this  preservation  is  the 
wisdom  of  the  Veronese  government.  In  past 
ages  the  temples  and  towers  of  antiquity  had  been 
demolished  in  all  directions  for  building  materials, 
and  nearly  all  the  outer  wall  of  the  Amphitheatre 
had  been  appropriated  in  the  same  way.  The 
Veronese  government  interfered  in  time  to  pre- 
vent further  destruction,  and  snatched  the  grand 
old  edifice  from  the  ruin  that  menaced  it.  The 
rows  of  seats,  the  arena,  the  vomitories,  the  inner 
chambers,  the  rooms  of  the  gladiators,  the  vivaria, 
all  are  in  good  preservation ;  and  if  .he  ghosts  of 
the  ancient  inhabitants  could  revisit  the  glimpses 
of  the  moon,  they  would  find  one  spot,  at  least, 
which  would  be  perfectly  familiar.     Even  in  mod- 


286  THE  WINGED   LTON. 

* 

ern  times  this  building  lias  been  used ;  and  in  the 
year  1849,  in  particular,  it  was  the  scene  of  a  grand 
display,  when  the  spectators  were  as  numerous  as 
in  ancient  times,  and  when  the  seat  of  honor  was 
held  by  one  who  claims  to  be  the  direct  represen- 
tative of  the  Roman  emperors,  —  the  Kaisar  (Cie- 
sar),  —  whose  forefathers  had  called  themselves 
Kaisars  of  the  Roman  Empire,  until  Napoleon 
forced  them  to  adopt  the  humbler  title  of  Kaisar 
of  Austria.  . 

They  all  sat  down  here  for  some  time,  and  at 
length  Frank  and  Bob  proposed  to  go  farther. 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ? "  asked  Uncle 
Moses,  wearily. 

"  0,  anywhere,''  said  Frank.  "  There's  a  Ca- 
thedral." 

"  0,  well,  don't  go  far  away.  Frank,  I  trust  to 
you.  Don't  let  Bob  get  into  trouble.  I'll  sit  here 
awhile,  and  when  I'm  rested  I'll  go  back  to  the 
hoteL  Don't  be  late,  and  don't  get  into  trouble. 
I'd  rayther  go  with  you ;  but  I  ain't  so  spry  as  I'd 
like  to  be,  an'  as  I  don't  want  to  spile  your  fun,  why, 
I'll  have  to  let  you  go  without  me." 

Uncle  Moses  spoke  very  mournfully,  and  the  boys 
felt  sad  at  leaving  him ;  but  Frank  was  anxious  to 
search  the  city,  and  still  hoped  to  come  upon  the 
track  of  Clive  and  David.  So  they  promised  him 
solemnly  not  to  go  away  for  any  distance,  and  to 
be  back  in  good  time.  With  this  they  left,  and 
Uncle  Moses  was  alone. 


UNCLE   MOSES   STARTLED.  287 

Thus  Uncle  Moses  remained  there,  seated  in  the 
old  Amphitheatre,  like  Marius  amid  the  ruins  of 
Carthage.  It's  the  best  place  for  me,  he  thought, 
sadly.  I'll  be  an  old  ruin  soon  myself.  His  mourn- 
ful feelings  were  too  much  for  him.  The  anxiety 
wliicli  he  had  endured  ever  since  the  departure  of 
David  and  Clive  had  made  him  weak  in  mind  and 
body,  and  the  failure  to  find  them  at  Yerona  was 
a  heavy  blow.  Thus  for  ho  had  always  succeeded 
in  keeping  on  their  track  ;  but  now  they  were  alto- 
gether lost,  and  ho  could  not  think  whore  next  to 
go.  So  he  sat  there  on  the  steps  of  the  ancient 
Amphitheatre,  with  his  head  bowed  down,  and  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands. 

Suddenly  he  was  roused  by  the  touch  of  a  light 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  Ho  started  up,  expecting  to 
see  Frank  or  Bob.  To  his  surprise  it  was  neither. 
It  was  a  stranger,  and  the  stranger  was  a  lady ;  a 
lady  of  mature  age,  with  gentle  and  refined  fea- 
tures, whereon  much  sadness  was  visible.  She  was 
standing  and  looking  at  him  wistfully  and  eagerly. 
As  for  Uncle  Moses,  he  jumped  up  to  his  feet,  and 
stared  at  her  without  a  single  word. 

"  Will  you  pardon  me,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  "  for 
intruding  ?  but  I  am  in  great  distress,  and  this  is 
my  only  excuse.  I  happened  to  hear  at  the  hotel 
that  some  strangers  had  come  who  were  Ameri- 
cans. I  hurried  f^wn  U)  see  them.  I  saw  you  and 
the  dear  boys  wlio  are*  with  you,  and  heard  you 
speak.    1  was  about  to  speak  to  you,  but  you  all 


288  THE  WINGED   LION. 

"y       ,  '     '  '  ' 

went  out.  But  I  was  in  such  a  fever  of  anxiety 
that  I  followed  you,  and  have  just  come  here.  I 
am  in  great  distress.  I  have  met  with  a  great 
misfortune.  I  am  all  alone  hero,  among  strangers, 
and  I  want  help.'' 

At  this,  all  Uncle  Moses'  feelings  were  stirred  up 
to  their  lowest  depths,  and  all  the  sympathies  of 
his  generous  nature  were  aroused  in  behalf  of  the 
gentle  lady  who  came  with  such  a  pitiable  appeal. 

"  O,  madam,"  said  he,  "  I'll  do  anythin'  —  any  thin' 
in  the  wide  world,  if  1  can."  - 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  affectionately  pressed 
that  of  the  lady,  to  show  his  S3'mpathy. 

"  O,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  lady ;  "  I'll  tell  3'ou 
how  I  am  situated.  I  came  from  Boston.  My  name 
is  Miss  Lee." 

"  Miss  Lee  ! "  cried  Uncle  Moses,  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,'^  said  Miss  Lee,  surprised  at  his  look  and 
tone.  hv, -J '^ :,[■■■■:  ;,.,.  •;.  .>  /ua  ,v 

*'  Miss  Lee,"  cried  Uncle  Moses  again ;  "  and 
weren't  you  in  Venice  ?  and  didn't  you  meet  my  two 
boys  ?  and  have  you  come  to  tell  me  about  them  ? 
0;  if  you  can  tell  me  anything,  do,  do,  for  I'm  heart- 
broken." 

Miss  Lee  shook  her  head  mournfully.  "  I  don't 
understand  you,"  said  she.  "I  haven't  been  in 
Venice,  and  1  haven't  seen  any  boys,  except  those 
dear  lads  that  you  have  with  you.  They  are  not 
lost  —  are  they  ?  for  they  have  just  left  you ;  or 
have  you  lost  any  others." 


MISS  LEE.  289 

"Others?  O,  yes,  marm/'  said  Uncle  Mosga, 
with  a  groan  ;  "  they  loft  me  at  Florence,  and  went 
to  Venice.  I  tracked  them  there,  and  couldn't  find 
them.  But  they  told  me  at  the  hotel  that  they  had 
been  there  with  a  Miss  Lee,  and  had  gone  away. 
I  understood  that  they  had  gone  to  Verona;  and 
that's  why  I  came  here." 

Miss  Lee  clasped  Uncle  Moses'  arm  with  both 
her  hands.  :    r  r  .;   ■  '    • 

"  What's  that  ?  "  she  said,  eagerly  ;  "  Miss  Lee  ? 
When  did  your  boys  go  to  Venice  ?" 

"  Wal,  as  nigh  as  I  can  cal'late,  they  left  Padua 
for  Venice  the  day  before  yesterday." 

''  In  the  morning?  "  asked  Miss  Lee,  with  intense 
eagerness.  .  .  , 

^Wis,  'm." 

"  Then  they  must  have  been  in  the  same  train. 
They've  found  her,  and  she's  safe.  0,  1  thank 
Heaven !  0,  sir,  what  a  load  you  have  taken  off 
my  mind!"  -U     ^  ;-'-.-:* 

"  Wal,  won't  you  try  and  take  a  little  of  the  load 
off  my  mnid  ?  "  said  Uncle  Moses.  ^'  Who  is  '  her  ?  ' 
Who  did  they  meet  ?  Is  there  any  other  Miss  Lee 
but  you?" 

'  0,  it's  my  niece  —  Gracie." 

"  Your  niece,  Gracie  !  "  said  Uncle  Moses,  in  a 
strange  tone. 

"  0,  yes ;  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  0,  sir, 
how  glad  I  am  that  I've  met  with  you  !     Heaven 

19 


290  THE  WINGED  LION. 

has  sent  you  here  in  answer  to  my  prayer ;  and  I'm 
sure  we  shall  be  able  to  help  one  another." 

At  this  flattering  mention  of  himself  as  a  heavenly 
messenger,  a  smile  broke  out  upon  the  rueful  visage 
of  Uncle  Moses  like  sunshine,  and  all  the  clouds 
w^ere  rapidly  dispelled.  There  was  something, 
also,  in  what  Miss  Lee  said  that  reassured  him.  It 
showed  that  others  had  lost  their  youthful  charges 
as  well  as  himself,  and  that  things  were  not  so  bad, 
after  all.  Besides,  he  felt  compelled  to  take  up  the 
attitude  of  consoler  and  adviser  to  this  forlorn  lady, 
and  therefore  he  had  to  rouse  himself  from  his  own 
despondency,  so  as  to  infuse  hope  into  her. 

"  0,  come,''  said  he,  "  an'  set  right  down  here,  an' 
tell  me  all  about  it.  We'll  be  able  to  get  on  to 
their  trail,  an'  hunt  'em  down.  So  they're  all  to- 
gether —  air  they  ?  my  boys  and  your  gal.  Well, 
that  is  cur'ous,  too.    I  can't  account  for  it,  no  how." 

As  Uncle  Moses  said  these  words,  he  seated 
himself  again,  and  motioned  to  Miss  Lee  to  take  a 
seat  beside  him.  This  that  lady  did,  and  then 
began  to  pour  forth  the  story  of  her  woes. 

She  had  left  home  in  company  with  her  brother, 
his  wife,  and  some  other  friends.  Gracie  was  under 
her  special  charge,  and  had  been  sent  to  Europe 
for  the  benefit  of  her  health.  After  various  wan- 
derings they  had  reached  Geneva,  and  here  the 
whole  party  remained  for  some  time.  Her  brother 
and  his  wife  then  wished  to  go  to  Italy ;  but  Miss 
Lee  did  not  feel  able  to  endure  the  fatigues  of 


MISS  lee's  narrative.  291 

rapid  travel  and  sight-seeing ;  so  an  arrangement 
was  made,  by  which  she  should  remain  in  Geneva 
for  another  month,  and  then  meet  them  in  Venice. 
The  brother  then  departed  with  h^s  wife  and 
friends  for  Marseilles,  and  had  written  from  Genoa, 
Naple  ,  Rome,  and  Florence.  On  the  receipt  of 
th(j  last  letter,  Miss  Lee  had  started  for  Venice 
with  Gracie,  and  nothing  of  importance  had  oc- 
curred until  the  eventful  morning  of  their  sep- 
aation.  •        ^.1  -^n  ■■..■■  :i^-;'rx  - 

"  But  why  did  you  stay  here  ? "  asked  Uncle 
Moses.  "  Why  didn't  you  go  right  straight  on  after 
her?" 

Miss  Lee  sighed. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  when  the  train  went  off  and 
left  me,  I  was  so  terrified  and  bewildered  that  I 
could  think  of  nothing.  I  couldn't  speak  a  word 
of  the  language,  and  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I 
thought  that  Gracie  would  come  back  to  me,  and 
my  only  thought  was  to  wait  here  for  her.  So  I 
waited  at  the  depot  till  the  return  train  came,  and 
when  I  saw  she  was  not  in  it,  I  was  quite  over- 
whelmed. Still  I  hoped  that  she  would  come  back ; 
.and  so  I  put  up  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Tour,  and  thought 
I  would  wait  till  the  next  day.  I  went  to  the  depot 
on  the  next  day,  but  she  was  not  there.  Then  I 
began  to  be  afraid  that  something  had  happened. 
The  worst  of  it  was,  I  had, staid  here  so  long  that  I 
could  not  think  of  going  away ;  and  my  only  hope 
has  been  that  Gracie,  after  all,  would  come  back  to 


292  THE   WINGED   LION. 

me.  But,  amid  it  all,  there  was  the  dreadful  fear 
that  the  poor  child  had  met  with  some  frightful 
misfortune.  And  so  these  two  days  have  been  full 
of  misery,  and  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have 
done  if  I  hadn't  met  with  you.  And  now  I  feel  as 
if  all  my  troubles  were  over,  for  you  can  help  me 
to  find  Gracie  ;  and  from  what  you  say  she  must  be 
with  your  boys." 

"  0,  yes,  'm,''  said  Uncle  Moses,  in  a  tone  of  confi- 
dence that  was  very  unlike .  his  recent  dejection ; 
"  we'll  find  'em.  They're  all  together  somewhars, 
an'  we'll  get  on  their  track  an'  bring  'em  all  back  like 
so  many  prodigal  sons.  On'y  it's  a  leetle  hard  to  tell 
whar  to  begin.  I've  come  here  in  search  of  'em, 
but  can't  find  any  signs  of  'cm  at  all.  I  don't 
know  what  else  to  do  but  to  hand  the  business  over 
to  the  police" 

"  The  police  !  "  said  Miss  Lee,  in  a  tone  of  horror. 
"  0,  would  you  dare  to  go  near  them  ?  The  only 
fear  I  have  had  is,  that  poor  Gracie  may  have 
fallen  into  their  hards." 

"  Why,  what  harm  would  they  do  ?  "  asked  Uncle 
Moses. 

"  Put  her  into  their  dungeons,"  said  Miss  Lee,  in 
a  tremulous  voice. 

Uncle  Moses  shuddered.  At  the  same  time  he 
felt  it  incumbent  on  him  to  administer  consolation 
to  his  companion ;  and  so  he  struggled  against  his 
fears,  and  strove  to  speak  with  boldness  and  confi- 
dent assurance.     The  result  was,  that  his  language 


ASSURANCES  OF  UKCLE  MOSES.       293 

towards  Miss  Lee  was  strikingly  like  that  of  Frank 
towards  himself,  and  the  very  act  of  talking  boldly 
served  to  revive  his  own  feeble  courage. 

"  0,  then,"  said  Miss  Lee,  at  last,  "  so  you  think 
the  police  here  are  not  what  they  used  to  be.'' 

"  Not  a  mite,"  said  Uncle  Moses ;  "  they're  polite, 
civil,  sensible,  and  humane.  They  wouldn't  harm 
a  fly.  It's  all  a  mistake  to  think  that  they  air  any 
different  from  the  police  to  home.  Why,  look  at 
me.  I've  been  to  see  'em,  at  Venice,  and  got  'em 
to  help  mo  with  my  boys.  An'  so  I  think  we  had 
better  get  their  help  here."  ]  j  b^I^  .  v 


#*•'•■'■     ?-; .    ■■■:  '  ■'■;,■ 


:»V  -  ■;»■■  {vx     'i'.i\  i  ,  :^---;.\y';   ''-' vf'i 


294  THE  WINGED   LION. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Wonderful  Change  in  U.icle  Moses,  —  The  new  Friend.  — 
New  Resolves.  —  Application  to  the  Police, 

SOOTHING  that  had  occurred  to  Uncle  Moses, 
during  the  wliole  course  of  his  travels  in 
Italy,  gave  him  such  pure  delight  as  his 
meeting  with  Miss  Lee.  He  liked  her  gentle  face 
and  soft  voice ;  he  was  touched  by  her  appeal  for 
assistance  and  lier  trust  in  him.  Above  all,  he 
was  most  aifected  by  Iier  timidity,  and  her  nervous 
terrors  as  to  imaginary  evils.  Her  misfortunes 
had  been  similar  to  his  own.  They  each  could 
sympathize  with  the  other.  It  was  delicious  to 
Uncle  Moses  to  meet  with  some  one  who  was  a 
greater  coward  than  himself,  and  it  was  most  flat- 
tering to  his  self-esteem,  for  he  had  to  take  up  the 
attitude  of  a  superior  being  towards  her. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Lee,"  said  Uncle  Moses,  taking 
her  hand  in  an  aiTectionate  way  and  pressing  it 
tenderly,  — "  my  dear  Miss  Lee,  don't  you  go  on 
an*  ^ive  yourself  any  more  trouble  ;  don't  fret  or 
worry.  I'll  take  care,  of  you.  Leave  all  to  me. 
Tha»  ain't  a  mite  of  danger  —  not  a  mite.  We'll 
find  'em  all  safe  an'  sound  —  my  boys,  Clive  and 


THE  NEW  FRIEND.  296 

David,  an'  your  gal,  Gracie.  I  see  how  it  is : 
they've  all  got  acquainted  in  the  train,  an'  gone 
on  to  Venice.  They  all  went  to  the  same  hotel, 
an'  your  Gracie  was  the  Miss  Lee  that  the  land- 
lord spoke  of.  1»  dar  say  they're  in  Venice  yet, 
an'  hev  merely  gone  to  lodgin's.  I  heard  that 
there  was  a  Miss  Lee  in  Verona,  an'  thought  it 
was  the  same  Miss  Lee  that  the  boys  had  met 
with.  I  a^ked  the  police  to  send  here.  Did  you 
not  hear  from  them  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  Miss  Lee.  "  But  how  did 
you  hear  that  there  was  a  Miss  Lee  in  Verona? 
That  seems  strange." 

"  Why,  the  police  told  me  that  ther'd  been  peo- 
ple there  askin'  them  to  send  to  Verona  for  you." 

Miss  Lee's  face  brightened  up  at  this. 

"  Then  my  friends  are  there  in  Venice,"  said  she. 
"  It  must  be  my  brother  Henry.  But  how  did  he 
know  that  I  was  at  Verona?  No  doubt  Gracie 
told  him.  They've  met  —  of  course.  I  under- 
stand it  all  now.  Gracie's  met  her  uncle  and  gone 
to  his  hotel,  and  the  boys  have  gone  with  him." 

"  They're  not  at  any  hotel  in  Venice,"  said  Uncle 
Moses.     "  The  police  hunted  everywhere." 

"  0,  well,  they're  at  some  lodgings." 

"  0,  the  fact  is,"  said  Uncle  Moses,  cheerily, 
"  they're  all  right.  There  ain't  a  mite  of  danger 
—  not  a  mite  ;  so  don't  you  bother  your  head  any 
longer  about  it.  Cheer  up,  marm,  an'  put  a  good 
face  on  it.     Why,  look  at  me  j  I've  lost  two,  an' 


296  THE  WINGED  I  ION. 

you've  only  lost  one.  Wal,  do  I  mourn  an^  lament? 
Do  I  despair  ?  Not  a  mite.  Why,  at  this  moment 
I'm  as  merry  as  a  cricket.  I  know  the  boys  air 
safe,  an'  that  we'll  meet  'em  all  the  minute  we  go 
back  to  Venice." 

At  this  moment  the  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  arrival  of  Frank  and  Bob.  So  deeply  inter- 
ested had  Uncle  Moses  and  Miss  Lee  been  in  their 
conversation,  that  they  heard  nothing  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  new  comers,  and  Uncle  Moses  had 
gone  on  talking  in  a  way  that  indicated  the 
greatest  boldness  and  confidence.  Frank  and 
Bob  heard  his  last  words,  and  were  full  of  amaze- 
ment. Was  it  possible  that  this  could  be  their 
Uncle  Moses?  What  a  change  had  come  over 
him  I  They  had  left  him  weak,  feeble,  crushed, 
and  despairing,  without  spirit  enough  to  say  a 
word ;  they  found  him  strong,  spirited,  animated, 
bold,  speaking  words  of  hope  and  confidence. 
They  saw  that  the  strange  lady  was  an  Ameri- 
can, and  could  only  conclude  that  Uncle  Moses 
had  heard  from  her  good  news,  which  had  wrought 
upon  him  this  great  change. 

In  a  few  moments  all  was  explained,  and  the 
quick  wit  of  Frank  made  him  see  at  once  the  full 
bearing  of  this  unexpected  meeting  with  Miss  Lee 
upon  their  own  business.  Uncle  Moses  stated  the 
conclusions  to  which  he  had  already  come,  and 
then  added, — 

"  So  you  see,  Frank,  there  ain't  a  mite  of  doubt 


NEW  RESOLVE.  297 

about  it ;  the  boys  were  in  Venice  all  the  time,  an' 
if  wo  hadn't  ben  so  impatient,  we'd  have  found  them 
by  this  time." 

By  the  tone  in  which  Uncle  Moaes  spoke  these 
words,  one  would  have  supposed  that  he  had  never 
known  what  it  was  to  be  anxious.  Frank  at  once 
chimed  in  with  his  uncle's  altered  mood,  and  find- 
ing his  occupation  of  comforter  gone,  he  humbly 
asked  what  he  intended  to  do  now. 

"  Do  ?  "  said  Uncle  Moses.  *'  Vv  hy,  go  back  to 
"Venice." 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  is  the  best  plan,"  said  Frank. 
"  And  when  can  you  start  ?  " 

"  Why,  to-day,"  said  Uncle  Moses  ;  "  that  is,  if 
Miss  Lee  is  ready." 

"  When  doef  the  next  train  leave  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Lee.  ''''''■■  ■''^''^  •• 

"  In  a  half  an  hour,"  said  Frank. 

"  0,  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  get  ready  by  that  time," 
said  Miss  Lee.     "  You  must  go  without  me." 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Moses ;  "  we  mu&u  all  go  to- 
gether. We'll  wait  till  you  are  ready.  If  we  sepa- 
rate now,  we  may  never  meet  again,  and  may  miss 
the  rest  of  'em,  too." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Miss  Lee,  "  to  be  unable 
to  go,  but  I  could  not  pack  up  in  so  short  a  time  ; 
but  if  you  do  not  mind  waiting,  why,  of  course  I 
shall  be  deeply  grateful." 

"  Wait?  Of  course  we'll  wait,"  said  Uncle  Moses. 
"  Arter  all,  it  ain't  goin'  to  make  any  difference  — 


298  THE  WINGED   LION. 

not  a  mite ;  an*  to  go  without  you  won't  be  a  bit 
of  use.  So  we'll  wait,  an'  all  go  together.  As 
we've  suffered  together,  so  shall  we  rejice  to- 
gether." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Lee,  "  there  would  be  no 
harm  in  sending  word  to  Venice,  to  tell  them  that 
we  are  here  and  are  coming." 

"  No  harm,"  said  Uncle  Moses ;  "  course  not. 
On'y  I'd  like  to  know  who  to  send  it  to.  The 
parties  who  were  inquirin'  arter  you  didn't  give 
their  address  to  me.  They  left  it  with  the  police. 
And  then  none  of  us  knows  where  Clive,  or  Da\  *d, 
or  your  niece  may  be." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  get  the  police  here 
to  send  a  message  to  the  police  in  Venice  ?  "  said 
Frank. 

"  Course  it  would,"  said  Uncle  Moses.  "  That's 
the  very  pint  I  was  comin'  to.  That's  our  plan. 
Let's  go  right  straight  oif  to  the  police." 

"  The  police  I "  repeated  Miss  Lee,  with  a  startled 
look. 

"  Yes,"  said  Undo  Moses.  "  "We'll  tell  'em  how 
it  is.  Get  'em  to  send  a  message  to  the  Venetian 
police,  who  will  communicate  with  your  friends ; 
and  at  the  same  time,  urge  them  to  look  up  Clive 
and  David.  I  dar  say  they've  found  them  by  this 
time,  if  they  railly  air  in  Venice.  An'  as  to  tho 
police,"  continued  Uncle  Moses,  directing  his  re- 
marks to  Miss  Lee,  "  don't  you  go  an'  give  your- 
self one  mite  of  trouble  about  that.     The  police 


/■■^  'V'l; 


APPLICATION  TO  THE   POLICE.  '299 

here  air  no  more  than  the  police  in  Boston.  Jest 
imagine  that  you  air  safe  at  hgme,  an'  drop  all 
these  superstitious  fears  about  the  police.  Why, 
you're  as  safe  here  as  in  Massachusetts.  This 
here's  a  free  govornmcnt,  an'  they've  got  habeas 
corpus,  trial  by  jury,  vote  by  ballot,  an'  a  free  con- 
stitution.    So  what  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

These  words,  which  gn  .tly  re-assured  Miss  Lee, 
sounded  at  once  strange  and  delicious  to  Frank. 
He  had  been  using  almost  the  same  words  during 
the  last  few  days,  to  console  and  re-assure  the  very 
same  Uncle  Moses,  who  now  repeated  them  so 
boldly  and  confidently.  He  wondered  at  the 
change,  and  could  not  imagine  the  cause ;  yet 
that  change  was  very  pleasant  to  him,  to  whom 
his  uncle's  deep  dejection  had  been  a  very  sore 
trial. 

They  now  left  the  Amphitheatre,  and  went  at 
once  to  the  police  station.  Here  there  was  an 
interpreter,  by  whose  aid  they  were  able  to  make 
known  their  wants.  Unfortunately  the  interpret- 
er's English  was  rather  shaky,  and  some  little 
misunderstanding  arose,  which  afterwards  led  to 
results  that  for  a  time  were  unpleasant. 

Frank  was  the  sppkesman,  as  Uncle  Moses  had 
greater  confidence  in  his  ability  to  deal  with 
foreigners  than  in  his  own.  He  therefore  made 
known  the  situation  in  as  few  words  as  possible, 
not  forgetting  to  bestow  a  handsome  fee,  the  re- 
ception of  which  at  once  seemed  to  stimulate  the 
rather  drowsy  zeal  of  the  officials. 


800  THE  WINGED   LION. 

Frank  informpH  them  of  the  facts  of  the  case, 
just  as  they  were,  and  these  plain  facts  were  trans- 
lated in  such  a  way  that  the  officials  received  a 
somewhat  different  impression  from  that  which  was 
intended. 

They  understood  that  David,  and  Clive,  and 
Gracie  had  all  run  away  from  their  guardians,  a.-d 
had  met  somewhere  by  a  preconcerted  arrange- 
ment, after  which  they  had  concealed  themselves 
in  Venice,  and  that  the  guardians,  having  just 
learned  of  their  hiding-place,  were  anxious  that 
they  should  be  found,  and  arrested  at  once,  and 
detained  until  they  should  go  on  to  Venice  them- 
selves. These  guardians  were  anxious  also  that  it 
should  be  done  this  very  day,  for  fear  lest  the  fugi- 
tives might  escape  them. 

This  the  Verona  police  promised  to  do,  and  +hat 
very  hour  they  sent  off  a  telegraphic  despatch  to 
the  Venetian  police,  ordering  the  immediate  arrest 
of  the  fugitives.  «    ;:, 


■ '  ■  ■  ,  ^    .  '  ?■• . '  .1.  ' 

■■■■■■         :   :  ;y  -o  -:-'  •«  ■'    • 

■  •       ■    y 
» '■■^,■  *     .  ■  \     *  .' 


THE  RUNAWAYS.  801 


,  CHAPTER  XXIII. 


'i;    •' 


Clive   and  David. —  Unwelcome    Visitors.  —  Arrested. — 
'  Hauled  to  Prison.  —  The  Dungeons  of  Venice.  —  Despair 
of  the  Captives.  "       v 

'ERNON'S  last  visit  to  the  Venctiau  police 
had  made  them  well  acquainted  with  the 
fact  that  he  had  with  him  two  boys  whose 
uncle  he  wished  to  find,  and  the  young  lady  after 
whose  aunt  he  had  been  searching.  Acccordingly, 
when  they  received  the  despatch  from  Verona,  it 
seemed  a  part  of  the  same  business  which  had 
been  brought  before  them  in  various  ways  and  from 
various  quarters  during  the  past  few  days.  It 
seemed  like  a  summary  ending  to  that  business, 
and  it  was  a  thing  that  lay  entirely  in  their  power. 
They  knew  perfectly  well  what  Vernon's  address 
was;  they  knew  that  the  fugitives  mentioned  in 
the  despatch  were  all  there ;  and  so  they  proceeded 
to  carry  the  demand  of  the  Veronese  police  into 
execution. 

Vernon  had  gone  away  with  his  mother  and 
Gracie.  David  and  Clive  had  been  left,  with  the 
strictest  instructions  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
and  not  get  into  any  fresh  diflSculty.    These  in- 


302  THE  WINGED  LION. 

structions  they  had  received  with  deep  humility, 
and  had  promised  to  obey  them  to  the  very  letter. 
After  seeing  their  friends  off  at  the  station,  they 
had  returned  to  Vernon's  house,  and  there  discussevi 
in  a  mournful  way  their  situation  and  prospects. 
Their  pleasant  excitement  had  now  all  passed  away. 
Sight-seeing  could  no  longer  interest  them.  There 
was  always  present  before  their  minijs  the  image 
of  the  distracted  Uncle  Moses,  seeking  for  the  run- 
aways, and  finding  them  not ;  tracing  them  in  town 
after  town,  as  far  as  .Venice,  only  to  lose  them  at 
last.  And  now,  where  had  he  gone  ?  or  what  was 
he  proposing  to  do  ?  To  give  them  up  ?  Impossi- 
ble. He  seemed  rather  to  be  entering  upon  a 
search  which  was  far  awa}''  from  the  right  direc- 
tion, and  would  only  lead  to  fresh  disappointment 
and  renewed  anxiety.  He  had  gone  to  Verona, 
but  might  already  have  left  that  place ;  and  although 
they  both  longed  to  join  him  again,  yet  they  knew 
not- where  tc  go,  and  could  only  rely  upon  Vernon. 
They  reproached  themselves  most  bitterly  for  their 
thoughtlessness,  and  these  sad  feelings  deprived 
them  of  all  capacity  for  enjoyment.  Venice  had 
now  lost  all  its  charms.  They  were  alone  in  the 
house,  with  only  the  housekeeper  and  one  servant, 
who  could  be  no  company  for  them.  Besides,  they 
missed  Vernon,  and  his  mother,  and  Gracie,  whose 
company  had  made  the  past  few  days  so  pleasant. 
All  these  things  combined  to  make  them  feel  mis- 
erable enough,  and  so  they  returned  from  the  rail- 


UNWELCOME  VISITORS.  303 

way  station  to  mope  about  the  house.  In  this  way 
they  passed  the  morning.         ^  .:  v;  ! 

But  youthful  minds  are  elastic,  and  it  is  impossi- 
ble, under  ordinary  circumstances,  for  the  pressure 
of  grief  to  last  very  long.  David  and  Clive  found 
themselves  gradually  rallying ;  and  although  they 
both  preserved  an  aspect  of  gloom,  still  they  al- 
lowed their  thoughts  to  wander  freely  over  pleas- 
ant subjects,  and  spent  some  agreeable  hours  in 
turning  over  pictures,  and  in  reading.  At  last,  Da- 
vid, in  his  most  sepulchral  tone,  proposed  that  they 
should  go  to  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark,  alleging  as  an 
excuse  that  he  had  a  bad  headache,  and  wanted 
some  fresh  air  and  exercise.  To  this  proposal 
Clive  assented  in  gloomy  silence,  and  so  they  pre- 
pared to  start. 

Just  as  they  were  going  down  stairs,  however, 
they  found  themselves  face  to  face  with  some  po- 
licemen, who  were  coming  up.  These  policemen 
looked  at  them  with  very  sigijificant  faces,  and  be- 
fore they  knew  what  to  think  they  found  themselves 
arrested,  and  heard  words  in  which  they  detected, 
"  Prigionieri,''  "  fuggitivi,"  "  arrestovi  in  nome  del 
Re,"  with  some  others,  all  of  which  were  intelligi- 
ble enough  even  to  one  who  had  but  a  slender  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Italian  language. 

They  were  detained  for  some  time  in  the  lower 
nail,  while  the  police  went  up  to  Vernon's  apart- 
ments. After  a  time  they  came  back,  and  David 
and  Clive  were  able  to  make  out  that  they  had 


*«in.;; 


304  THE   WINGED   LION. 

.♦  ■-      .. . 

gone  in  search  of  Signorina  Lee,  and  that  they 
had  not  been  able  to  find  her.  In  the  midst  of 
their  perplexity,  terror,  and  dismay,  the  two  boys 
felt  glad  indeed  that  Gracie  was  safe,  out  of 
danger,  and  that  she  had  not  been  left  behind  to 
share  their  terrific  fate. 

Terrific  !  —  that  was  the  word,  for  indeed  to  be 
arrested  by  the  police  in  any  European  city  is  a 
serious  thing  ;  but  who  can  think  without  a  shud- 
der of  an  arrest  by  the  police  of  Venice  ?  At  any 
rate,  Clive  and  David  could  not.  All  their  past 
knowledge  of  Venice,  all  that  they  had  heard  from 
Vernon,  and  seen  with  their  own  eyes,  came  before 
their  minds.  The  Venetian  police  —  what  a  tc  :i- 
ble  significance  was  there  in  that  name  !  What  hor- 
rors lay  in  the  past  history  of  that  police  !  —  a  his- 
tory associated  with  hideous  memories  of  dungeon, 
and  rack,  and  agony,  and  despair.  True,  the  worst 
of  their  tortures  had  been  abolished  ;  but  the  habit 
of  cruelty  might  be  strong ;  and  who  could  tell 
what  deeds  of  darkness  were  still  perpetrated  by 
the  dread  tribunal  which  now  presided  over  the 
afiairs  of  this  mysterious  city  I 

After  a  further  delay,  they  were  taken  to  the  po- 
lice boat,  and  away  they  knew  not  where.  As  they 
went  away  they  hoped  to  learn  something  about 
the  cause  of  their  arrest,  but  were  disappointed. 
Nothing  was  said.  None  of  the  faces  were  familiar, 
ap''  none  were  at  all  inviting.  They  all  looked 
liine  machines  —  the  soulless  instruments  of  a  cruel 


TAKEN  TO  PEISON.  306 

law.  The  sight  of  these  grim  and  silent  men  made 
Clive  and  David  sink  down  into  deeper  dejection 
and  despair.  • 

At  length  they  reached  the  police  station,  and 
wepe  taken  inside.  Here  they  found  some  officials 
who  regarded  them  with  looks  in  which  there  was 
no  trace  of  softness  or  pity.  Clive  roused  himself, 
and  asked  in  English  if  there  was  an  interpreter  to 
be  had;  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  his  words. 
Then  David,  encouraged  by  Olive's  boldness,  ven- 
tured upon  a  few  Italian  words.  He  looked  at  one 
of  the  officials,  who  seemed  to  be  the  chief,  and 

said,  —       :  '^  ...v  ■■•  ■•■      .;;-:•;     ■    '  ■    /.^.^  -  \-.- 

"  Vogliamo  un  interpreter.  Siamo  American!  — 
e  vogliamo  vedere  il  Consule  Americano." 

This  was  bad  Italian,  and  spoken  with  an  ab- 
surdly foreign  accent;  yet  it  was  intelligible  enough, 
and  David  hoped  ic  effect  something  by  it.  His 
hopes,  however,  were  vain.  No  notice  whatever 
was  taken  of  his  words.  It  was  just  the  same  as  if 
they  had  not  been  spoken.  The  officials  conversed 
for  a  while  among  themselves,  and  then  one  of  them 
beckoned  to  another.  This  last  took  David  and 
Clive  by  the  arms,  and  led  them  out  of  the  room 
and  into  a  long  hall,  which  they  traversed,  and  at 
length  stopped  in  front  of  a  door.  This  was  opened, 
and  their  guide  motioned  to  them  to  go  in.  They 
did  so.  He  then  locked  the  door,  and  they  heard 
his  retreating  footsteps  as  he  walked  away. 

This  was  the  most  awful  moment  in  their  lives  j 
20 


306  THE  WINGED   LION. 

a  moment  which  far  exceeded  anything  that  they 
had  ever  known,  and  which  could  only  be  compared, 
in  point  of  utter  horror,  >  some  of  Lnose  terrific 
Bituations  which  the  mind  may  invent  in  a  night- 
mare dream.  Standing  motionless  and  mute,  star- 
ing at  one  another  with  pallid  faces,  the  two 
wretched  boys  saw  nothing,  and  heard  nothing,  and 
thought  of  nothing.  Terror  had  almost  taken  away 
their  senses.  The  whole  incident  of  the  arrest  had 
been  at  once  so  sudden,  so  terrible,  so  overwhelm- 
ing, that  they  were  only  conscious  of  some  fearful 
doom  impending  over  them.     '  -  " -^ 

The  room  was  not  a  dungeon,  however,  and 
though  somewhat  dreary,  had  nothing  in  it  which 
of  itself  might  inspire  terror.  It  was  a  room  with 
plain  walls,  lighted  by  a  small  window  that  seemed 
to  look  out  on  a  court-yard.  There  were  two  beds, 
two  chairs,  a  table,  and  a  wash-stand.  There  was 
certainly  something  cheerless  in  its  aspect,  yet, 
after  all,  it  was  a  commonplace  room  enough,  and 
might  have  belonged  to  some  Italian  inn,  as  well 
as  to  the  Venetian  police. 

It  was  this  that  at  length  served  to  dispel  to 
some  extent  the  first  horror  which  they  had  felt, 
and  to  change  it  to  a  feeling  of  simple  anxiety. 
Clive  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Well,"  said  he,  as  he  drew  a  long  breath,  "  I'd 
give  something  to  know  what  all  this  may  mean." 

David  heaved  a  very  heavy  sigh. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  dolefully.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand." 


DELIBERATIONS.  307 

"  I  wonder  if  Vernon  can  have  had  anything  to 
do  with  any  revolutionary  movements.  He  may 
have  been  denounced,  and  ihat  may  have  been  the 
reason  why  he  ran  away." 

"  He  didn't  run  away,"  said  David.  "  Besides, 
he  wouldn't  have  sacrificed  us." 

"  0,  we  shan't  be  sacrificed,"  said  Clive,  in  a 
more  cheerful  tone.  "  We've  been  arrested  ;  but 
when  they  find  out  that  we've  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  they'll  let  us  go."  ... 

"  0;  I  don't  think  it's  anything  of  that  sort,"  said 
David.  "  They  don't  get  up  revolutions  in  Italy 
now,  or  conspiracies,  for  Italy's  a  free  country." 

"  A  queer  kind  of  freedom,"  said  Clive. 

"  Well,  J  think,"  said  David,  "  that  there's  some 
other  cause  for  this ;  and  such  a  cause  as  may 
have  led  to  our  arrest  anywhere  —  even  in  New 
York."  ..-.>--.■     ■■;■  .-  ;-    V  ,--.:.:->:  -< 

"How?"      .,,,  .  ,->',.;.-■■;. 

ti  Well  —  there's  Gracie." 

"  What  of  her  ?    What's  she  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 
"  0,  well,  she  left   her  aunt,  and  perhaps  her 
aunt  has  set  the  police  to  find  her;  and  we've  been 
seen  with  her,  so  they've  arrested  us.     You  know 
they  were  trying  to  find  her.     Now,  I  believe  they 
came  after  her  especially,  and  merely  took  us  be- 
cause they  had  seen  us  witli  her." 
"  How  could  they  see  us  with  her  ?  " 
"  0,  easily  enough.    Why,  Clive,  Venice  is  all 
crammed  full  of  spies." 


308  THE   WINGED  LION. 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  just  for  nothing  at  all,  and  that's  the 
worst  of  it.  But  the  trouble  is,  they  don't  under- 
stand yet  how  to  govern  in  a  free  country ;  and 
though  Italy  is  free,  the  police,  just  out  of  old  habit, 
still  keep  up  their  old  style  of  spying,  and  poking 
their  noses  into  other  people's  business,  and  watch- 
ing everything.  It'll  take  another  hundred  years 
before  Italy  can  be  like  America  —  perhaps  five 
hundred." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Clive. 

"  Now,  in  New  York,"  said  David,  "  we  could 
send  for  a  lawyer,  and  he  would  get  us  out  on 
bail." 

"  Who  would  give  us  bail  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  At  any  rate  he'd  get  us  out ; 
for  no  one  ever  heard  of  two  innocent  boys  being 
arrested  in  America.  0,  a  lawyer  could  get  us  out 
fast  enough." 

"  Well,  why  mayn't  a  lawyer  get  us  out  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  hope  he  may,  if  they'll  only  let  us  have  one  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  we  seem  to  be  so  much  in  their 
power  that  I  do  not  know  how  we  can  begin  to  do 
anything.  You  see  I  asked  for  the  American  con- 
sul." 

"  So  you  did.'' 

'*  And,  you  know,  they  wouldn't  take  any  notice 
of  what  I  said." 

"  No,"  said  Clive,  mournfully  ;  "  and  this  shows 
that  they  mean  to  be  severe  With  us.     The  fact  is, 


CONVERSATION  IN  PRISON.  309 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  they've  made  some  ab- 
surd bhmder  about  it  all." 

"A  blunder?" 

'*  Yes  ;  they've  mistaken  us  for  some  one  else.*' 

.«  That's  not  unlikely." 

"  Why,  it's  very  likely  indeed.  For  what  earthly 
reason  could  they  have  to  arrest  a  couple  of  boys 
like  us  ?  What  have  we  ever  done  ?  Haven't  we 
been  as  quiet  as  mice  ?  Can  you  imagine  a  single 
thing  that  we  have  ever  done  which  they  could  tor- 
ture into  any  offence  against  the  laws  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  oaid  David.  "  We've  done 
wrong  in  one  way,  of  course,  but  not  in  a  way  that 
the  Venetian  government  could  notice.  For  you 
see,  Clive,  we  did  wrong  in  leaving  Bologna  with- 
out hearing  from  Uncle  Moses.  I  can  imagine  how 
he  must  have  suffered.  We've  been  enjoying  our- 
selves all  along,  while  he's  been  tormented  with 
anxiety.  Well,  our  enjoyment 's  over  now,  at  any 
rate,  and  I'm  prepared  to  take  this  as  a  sort  of 
punishment  for  wrong-doing,  and  bear  it  like  a 
man." 

"  0,  that's  all  very  well,"  said  Clive  ;  **  but  at  the 
same  time  it  is  an  undeniable  fact  that  no  one  has 
an}'-  right  to  keep  us  here  in  prison.  It's  an  out- 
rage on  the  rights  of  free  Americans." 

In  this  way  they  passed  the  remainder  of  the 
day.  Evening  came,  and  their  dinner  was  brought. 
It  consisted  of  cold  meats,  with  coffee.  It  was  not 
a  bad  dinner,  and  the  boys,  in  spite  of  their  anxiety 


310  ,  THE  WINGED   LION. 

and  trouble,  were  ravenously  hungry.  They  ate 
their  dinner,  therefore,  with  great  satisfaction  ;  and 
the  only  fault  that  they  had  to  find  with  it  was,  that 
there  was  not  quite  enough.  Then  evening  deep- 
ened into  night.  They  had  no  lights;  so  they  WQut 
to  bed,  and  soon  fell  fast  asleep. 

They  slept  so  soundly  that  they  did  no'  awake 
until  their  jailer  entered  with  breakfast.  Then 
they  arose  and  partook  of  their  morning  meal. 
When  the  jailer  reappeared,  they  tried  to  make 
known  to  him,  in  their  broken  Itahan,  the  desire 
which  they  had  to  see  the  American  consul ;  but 
the  jailer  either  could  not  or  would  not  under- 
stand them.  In  vain  they  made  use  of  all  their 
knowledge,  not  only  of  the  Italian,  but  even  the 
Latin  language.  At  every  new  trial  the  jailer 
would  smile,  and  nod,  and  make  gestures,  which 
indicated  everything  but  a  comprehension  of  their 
meaning.  It  was  evident  to  them  both  that  no 
help  could  be  looked  for  in  that  quarter. 

The  jailer  removed  the  dishes  and  departed. 
Now  there  arose  before  them  the  long,  long,  dreary 
day.  Their  imprisonment  began  to  seem  serious, 
inasmuch  as  they  found  themselves  utterly  helpless, 
and  unable  to  do  a  single  thing  towards  gaining  a 
hearing  of  their  case. 

"  It's  a  curious  way  to  treat  harmless  travellers," 
said  Clive  ;'  "  and  ft  seems  to  me  to  be  a  perfectly 
horrible  violation  of  the  most  sacred  rights  of  free 
Americans." 


DESPONDENCY.  311 

"  0,  what'a  the  use  of  talking  of  free  Ameri- 
cans ?  "  said  David,  gloomily.  "  We're  Americans, 
and  we're  not  free,  and  have  no  prospect  of  free- 
dom. How  can  we  say  or  do  anything?  We're 
buried  alive  liere,  beyond  the  reach  of  our  friends, 
out  of  their  sight,  and  with  no  hope  of  having  any 
communication  with  them.  0,  if  Vernon  would 
only  come  back  I  But  he's  gone  off  upon  a  jour- 
ney that  may  be  a  long  one,  and  who  can  tell  when 
he'll  return  ?  When  he  does  come  back,  he'll  forget 
all  about  us  ;  he'll  think  that  we've  gone  away  our- 
selves, just  as  we  went  away  from  Uncle  Moses. 
I've  no  confidence  in  the  Venetian  poUce.  I'm 
afraid  they  keep  up  something  of  their  old  habits 
of  severity,  and  though  they've  abolished  the  tor- 
ture, still  they  like  to  keep  people  in  prison  as  long 
as  they  can." 

Clivo  said  nothing  in  reply.  David's  despondent 
frame  of  mind  was  communicated  to  him,  and  they 
both  were  filled  with  the  most  gloomy  forebodings. 


312  THE  WINGED   LION. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Police  once  more.  —  An  affecting  Meeting.  —  Grand 
Reunion  at  the  Hotel  Zeno.  —  Uncle  Moses  causes  a  great 
Surprise. 

^h^^pO  sooner  had  Uncle  Moses  arrived  at  Venice, 
J*  than  he  was  eager  to  learn  whether  any- 
5^  4  thing  had  been  found  out  about  Clive  and 
David  —  a  feeling  which  was  shared  by  the  others, 
and  particularly  by  Miss  Lee,  who  was  as  anxioud 
about  Gracie  as  Uncle  Moses  was  for  his  lost  boys. 
And  so,  as  soon  as  possible,  Uncle  Moses  proceeded 
to  the  Police  Bureau,  accompanied  by  Frank  and 
Bob,  leaving  Miss  Lee  at  the  hotel  to  await  their 
return. 

To  their  first  eager  inquiry,  the  official  gave  an 
answer  which  filled  them  with  delight. 

"  Found  dem  ?     0,  yais  ;  we  did  finda  dems." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Frank,  eagerly. 

"  0,  at  de  ouse  of  a  friends  —  an  Americano." 

"  An  American  I  Who  is  he  ?  What's  his  name  ? 
Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  Is  name,  eet  ees  Vairnon,"  said  the  official. 

"  Vernon,  Vernon  ?    I  don't  know  him." 

"  De  signorina  dat  you  name  in  de  telegram,  we 
did  not  finda.     She  gon  away." 


THE  BOYS  AND  THE  POLICE.        313 

"  Gone  !     Where  ? '' 

The  official  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  O,  she  gon  away  wit  Vairnon." 

"  O,  gone  away  with  Vernon.  And  the  boys  — 
where  were  they  ?     Did  you  find  them  ?  " 

**  0,  yais,  we  dit  find  em." 

"  Where  are  they  ?  Will  you  give  us  the  ad- 
dress ?  "  asked  Frank,  eagerly.  "  We  want  to  see 
them  at  once  —  as  boon  as  possible." 

"  0,  yais,  you  sail  see  dem  as  soon  as  possibile," 
said  the  official,  with  a  smile. 

Frank,  who  now  considered  himself  well  up  in 
Italian  ways,  here  put  some  money  into  the  hand 
gf  this  smiling  functionary,  and  said,  — 

"  Can't  you  send  some  one  with  us  to  show  us 
the  place,  so  that  we  may  find  it  with  the  least  pos- 
sible delay  ?  " 

"  O,  yais,"  was  the  reply.  "  All  aright.  You  sail 
haf  no  delay.     Dey  ere." 

"  Here  1 "  exclaimed  Frank. 

"  0,  yais ;  ere  in  dis  ouse,  secure,  an  all  aright." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  cried  Frank,  "  that  they 
are  here  in  this  house  ?  "  • 

"  0,  yais,  dat  ees  eet ;  an  I  sail  haf  dems  bote 
brought  out  right  away.     You  wait  un  moment." 

With  these  words  the  official  withdrew,  leaving 
his  visitors  in  a  state  of  delight  inexpressible. 
Uncle  Moses,  indeed,  felt  somewhat  shocked  at 
finding  his  boys  thus  turn  up  in  prison,  after  all 
their  wanderings ;  but  the  idea  of  finding  them 


314  •  THE   WINGED   LION. 

was  of  itself  so  delightful  that  it  overshadowed 
everything  else,  and  he  awaited  the  return  of  the 
official  with  trembling  eagerness.  Bob  was.  how- 
ever, immensely  amused  at  this.  He  nudged  Frank 
with  his  elbow,  and  said,  — 

"  I  say,  Frank,  I  rather  think  they'll  know  as 
much  about  Venice  as  I  did,  prisons  and  all ;  buc, 
0,  isn't  it  rich  to  think  of  the  poetic  Clive  and 
sober-sided  David  turning  un  here  ?  I  say,  Frank, 
your  turn'll  have  to  come.  You'll  be  the  next  one 
here,  and  then  poor  Uncle  Moses'll  have  to  take 
his  turn." 

They  were  not  left  long  in  suspense  ;  but  after  a 
few  minutes  the  official  returned,  along  with  Clive 
and  David.  The  joy  on  both  sides  was  equal,  and 
was  too  great  for  words.  They  all  clung  to  one 
another  in  a  promiscuous  manner,  and  could  not 
speak.  Uncle  Moses  was  too  full  of  happiness  to 
think  of  reproaching  the  runaway?  and  they  were 
too  full  of  thankfulness  to  find  any  words  of  excuse 
or  apology.  All  these  things  had  to  be  deferred  to 
a  future  occasion. 

Before  leaving,  Frank  made  a  few  more  inquiries 
about  Grade  ;  but  Clive  told  him  that  he  could  in- 
form him  all  abc»ut  that ;  so  they  took  their  depart- 
ure, and  returned  to  the  Hotel  Zeno.  On  the  way 
Clive  and  David  told  them  all  about  the  cause  of 
Vernon's  departure,  and  of  Gracie's  journey  with 
him,  which  information  made  them  stop  at  the 
telegraph  office,  and  despatch  several  messages  to 


AN  AFFECTING   MEETINO.  316 

Vernon,  directed  to  the  various  hotels  at  Verona, 
and  one  also  to  the  police,  requesting  that  Vernon 
be  acquainted  with  Miss  Lee's  arrival  at  Venice. 
They  felt  certain  that  some  of  those  messages  would 
reach  thoir  destination. 

After  this  they  returned  to  the  Hotel  Zono.  On 
the  way  Clive  and  David  told  the  whole  story  of 
their  wanderings,  and  Uncle  Moses  told  all  about 
his  journey  after  them ;  and  with  these  explana- 
tions were  mingled  all  those  expressions  of  con- 
trition on  the  one  hand,  and  of  forgiveness  on  the 
other,  which  the  occasion  demanded. 

On  reaehing  the  Hotel  Zeno,  they  went  at  once 
to  see  Miss  Lee,  to  tell  her  the  news.  They  found 
her  surrounded  by  a  party  of  people  who  were 
strangers  to  them,  but  were  evidently  the  dearest 
possible  friends  to  Miss  ^jee.  A  suspicion  came 
to  them  as  to  who  these  new  comers  might  be,  and 
this  was  soon  confirmed  by  Miss  Lee  herself,  who 
introduced  to  them  her  brother,  Mr.  Henry  Lee, 
his  wife,  and  two  cousins.  They  had  come  to 
Venice  the  evening  before,  and  having  heard  of 
her  arrival,  had  hastened  to  welcome  her.  They 
had!  just  heard  her  story,  and  were,  therefore,  full 
of  anxiety  about  Gracie.  This  anxiety,  however, 
was  soon  calmed  by  the  information  which  Uncle 
,  Moses  gave,  and  the  mention  of  Vernon's  name 
seemed  to  carry  with  it  additional  assurance  that 
all  would  be  well. 

"  Vernon,"  said  Mr.  Henry  Lee.     "  0,  I  know 


316  THE  WINGED  LION. 

him  very  well  indeed,  and  his  mother,  too.  She 
left  Boston  some  time  since  to  join  him  here.  He 
is  doing  finely,  and  already  has  a  great  reputation 
as  an  artist.  He  has  a  most  brilliant  future  before 
him.  Gracio  has  certainly  fallen  among  pleasant 
friends." 

"  We  found  her  first,"  said  Clive,  proudly.  "  We 
met  her  in  the  cars." 

"  0,  you  did  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lee  ;  and  thereupon  he 
made  Clive  tell  him  all  about  it.  Clive  did  so,  and 
told  him,  in  addition,  all  about  their  flight  from  their 
uncle,  their  various  wanderiiigs,  and  final  fate. 

Mr.  Lee  laughed  more  than  once,  and  at  length 
said,  — 

"  Well,  boys,  your  Uncle  Moses,  with  you,  seems 
to  me  liko  a  hen  that  has  hatched  a  brood  of  ducks. 
After  endless  trouble  with  them,  she  sees  them  all 
take  to  the  wate'*," 

"  Yes,"  said  Clive,  "  that's  what  we  did.  I  sup- 
pose coming  to  Venice  may  be  called  taking  to  the 
water." 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  I  took  to  the  water  in  real 
earnest  j  but  the  police  were  too  much  for  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Lee,  "  you've  had  your  fling,  and 
you've  suflered  for  it,  For  the  future  you  ought 
to  learn  to  be  more  careful.  Mind,  I'm  not  giving 
you  advice.  Advice,  by  itself,  is  generally  of  very 
little  use.  Wisdom  doesn't  come  bv  advice,  but 
by  experience,  and  you've  had  an  experience  which 
ought  to  teach  you  a  good  lesson." 


REUNION  AT  THE  HOTEL  ZENO.       317 

The  only  thing  now  needed  to  complete  the  hap- 
piness of  all  was  the  return  of  Gracie  ;  but  it  was 
felt  that  she  was  in  good  hands,  and  that  the  vari- 
ous telegrams  would  certainly  reach  Vernon  before 
he  could  think  of  leaving  Verona.  It  was  expected 
that  he  would  receive  them  that  day,  and  that  he 
would  come  back  by  the  first  train  on  the  follow- 
ing day.  Accordingly  Frank,  Bob,  David,  and 
ClivG  entieated  Uncle  Moses  to  let  them  go  to  the 
station  and  meet  them.  This  request  was  granted 
without  any  demur.  Uncle  Moses  seemed  to  have 
lost  much  of  his  former  anxious  timidity.  Mr.  Lee 
was  desirous  of  meeting  Gracie  on  her  arrival ;  so 
he  went  with  them,  and  at  the  proper  time  they  all 
stood  awaiting  the  advent  of  the  train. 

In  the  mean  time,  as  has  been  shown,  Vernon  had 
learned  about  Miss  Lee's  departure  for  Venice  with 
Uncle  Moses  and  Frank  and  Bob,  while  the  tele- 
grams that  he  afterwards  received  confirmed  the 
news  in  the  fullest  marner.  Although  he  would 
have  liked  to  travel  all  over  Italy  with  Gracie,  yet 
he  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  about  returning  home ; 
and  so,  as  the  party  waited  in  the  station-house,  the 
train  arrived,  and  Vernon,  with  his  mother-  and 
Gracie,  got  out.  • 

There  was  now  a  very  joyous  meeting,  and  Ver- 
non, who,  with  his  mother,  accompanied  them  to 
the  Hotel  Zeno,  saw  Gracie  restored  to  her  guar- 
dian aunt. 

That  evening  Vernon's  home  seemed  lonely  to 


318  THE  WINGED   LION. 

him,  and  he  missed  the  sweet  companionship  that, 
for  a  few  happy  days,  had  filled  it  with  sunshine. 
But  Gracie,  thouj^h  no  longer  a  visitor  in  his  house, 
was  still  in  Venice,  and  it  was  the  intention  of  her 
friends  to  stay  there  some  time. 

All  that  time  was  spent  by  Yernon  in  the  ex- 
clusive devotion  of  himself  to  Gracie.  There 
were  many  things  to  be  seen.  He  revisited  the 
old  scenes  in  company  with  the  whole  party,  and 
many  new  ones.  He  had  many  more  stories  in  his 
manuscript,  and  these  he  read  to  them  now  under 
the  arcades  of  palaces,  again  while  floating  lazily 
in  the  gondola,  and  yet  again  in  the  evening  at  the 
Hotel  Zeno.  They  were  also  often  at  his  house, 
looking  at  his  pictures  or  sketches,  and  seeing  the 
vivid  portrayal  of  the.  very  events  which  he  had 
been  narrating.  These  days  were  quite  as  pleas- 
ant to  Pracie  as  the  old  ones,  and  ip  one  respect 
pleasanter,  since  the  anxiety  that  formerly  lay 
beneath  all  her  enjoyment  had  now  altogether 
passed  away,  and  there  was  nothing  to  think  of 
except  the  present  and  its  delights. 

Uncle  Moses  did  not  accompany  them  in  these 
wanderings.  He  excused  himself  on  the  ground 
that  he  had  seen  enough  of  sights.  So  he  re- 
mained at  home  in  the  hotel.  As  a  general  thing 
Miss  Lee  also  remained  at  home.  She,  too,  de- 
clared that  she  did  not  care  for  sight-seeing,  and 
thus  it  happened  that  the  sudden  and  sympathetic 
friendship  which  had  sprung  up  between  Uncle 


CHANGE  IN  UNCLE  MOSES'  DEMEANOR.  31^. 

Moses  and  Miss  Lee  in  the  Amphitheatre  at  Ve- 
rona, grew  stronger  and  still  more  sympathetic  at 
Venice.  Uncle  Moses  was  certainly  very  much 
changed  for  the  better.  He  had  lost  all  his  former 
fidgety  ways,  and  seemed  no  longer  to  be  tor- 
mented by  that  eternal  anxiety  about  the  boys 
which  hitherto  had  been  the  bane  of  his  exist- 
ence. The  boys  were  free  now  to  go  where  they 
liked.  They  were  always  off  at  an  early  hour,  and 
never  back  till  dark.  All  the  same  to  Uncle  Moses. 
He  had  Miss  Lee  as  his  companion,  and  in  her  so- 
ciety he  seemed  to  find  a  grave,  calm,  quiet  satis- 
faction, that  made  him  feel  like  a  new  man. 

He  was  very  fond  of  telling  her  this. 

"  You  seem,"  said  he,  "  somehow  or  nother,  to 
hev  maje  a  new  man  of  me.  1  used  to  be  the  for- 
lornedest  creetur  you  ever  see,  but  now  I  feel  like 
a  man,  and  I'm  railly  twenty  years  younger  than  I 
was  before  I  met  you.  An  I  railly  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  it.     It  beats  me,  it  doos,  railly." 

At  such  remarks  as  these  Miss  Lee  always  used 
to  smile  upon  Uncle  Moses  so  sweetly,  that  he 
thought  her  face  like  the  face  of  some  of  the  saints 
that  he  had  seen  in  cathedrals. 

Several  weeks  passed  away  in  this  pleasant  fash- 
ion, and  the  Lees  were  already  talking  of  leaving 
Venice,  when  one  day  Vernon  came  to  see  Miss 
Lee. 

His  errand  was  one  of  a  very  important  kind, 
and  Vernon  soon  explained  it.     He  informed  her 


320  THE  WINGED  LION. 

that  his  affections  were  very  deeply  engaged  with 
Gracie,  and  that  if  she  were  to  leave  him  now,  he 
would  be  the  most  miserable  of  men ;  that  Gracie 
had  consented  to  make  him  happy,  and  that  he  had 
come  to  her  to  ask  her  consent. 

Vernon's  information  was  far  more  circumloc- 
utory than  this,  and  was  accompanied  with  many 
hesitations  and  some  embarrassments,  as  is  natural 
in  such  a  delicate  matter ;  but  Miss  Lee's  manner 
was  full  of  encouragement,  and  she  listened  to  his 
words  with  a  smile. 

"  0,  I've  seen  how  it  was,"  said  she.  "  I  ex- 
pected this  ;  but,  then,  isn't  Gracie  altogether  too 
young  ?  " 

"  0,  she's  young,  certainly,"  said  Vernon  ;  "  but 
that  is  a  thing  which  will  be  remedied  in  the  course 
of  time." 

The  end  of  it  was,  that  Miss  Lee  gave  her  con- 
sent, but  asked  Vernon  to  spg  her  b"other  about 
it ;  which  Vernon  promised  to  do. 

After  his  departure,  Miss  Lee  told  Uncle  Moses, 
and  that  good  man  was  moved  with  feelings  of  the 
deepest  sympathy  for  Miss  Lee's  forlorn  condition. 

"  Dear,  dear,  dear  I  "  he  exclaimed.  "  So  you're 
goin'  to  lose  her  I  Why,  you'll  be  quite  alone  in 
the  world  I  Now,  I  s'pose  you'll  feel  dreadful  lone- 
ly —  won't  you  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,"  said  Miss  Lee. 

"  Why,  it's  jest  like  losin'  a  darter,"  said  Uncle 
Moses. 


COURTSHIP.  321 

"  0,  quite,"  said  Miss  Lee,  with  a  long  sigh. 

"  And  then  your  brother  has  his  own  house,  an' 
his  own  fambly  matters." 

"  0,  ves." 

"  I  ben  thinkin'  of  this  for  a  long  time,"  said 
Uncle  Moses,  after  a  pause.  "  I  saw  how  it  was, 
—  it's  alius  the  way  with  the  young  folks,  —  an'  I 
thought  you'd  be  lonely,  jest  like  me.  Now  you 
know  I'm  alius  lonely." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  said  Miss  Lee,  looking  at  him  in  a 
very  sympathetic  manner.        "* 

"  Alius,"  said  Uncle  Moses.  "  Do  you  ever  feel 
lonely  ?    I  s'pose  not."  r    ; 

"  0,  yes,"  said  Miss  Lee.  ^ 

"  Often  ?  "•  inquired  Uncle  Moses,  in  a  tender 
voice. 

*'  0,  always,"  said  Miss  Lee. 

"  Dear,  dear,  dear !  on'y  think  of  that,"  said  Uncle 
Moses.     "  An'  do  you  feel  very  lonely  ?  " 

"  0,  very,"  said  Miss  Lee. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Uncle  Moses,  in  a  rueful  voice  ; 
"  an'  when  you  go,  it'll  be  wuss  than  ever." 

Miss  Lee  sighed. 

Uncle  Moses  drew  nearer,  looking  at  her  with 
meek  inquiry.     Then  he  took  her  hand. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Don't 
leave  me,  my  dear,  dear  Miss  Lee.  Stay  with  me. 
I  never  saw  anybody  that  I  liked  half  so  well.  It's 
true,  I'm  a  leetle  old ;  but,  then,  better  late  than 
never  ;  an'  I  don't  see  how  I  can  hve,  if  I  lose  you 
21 


322  THE  WINGED   LION. 

—  I  don^t,  railly.  Don't  leave  me.  Won't  you  stay 
with  me,  my  dear,  dear  Miss  Lee,  an'  be  my  own  — < 
wife  ?  " 

As  Uncle  Moses  was  speaking,  he  drew  Miss  Lee 
nearer  to  him,  and  the  good  lady  let  her  head  rest 
on  his  manly  shoulder. 

"  0,  what'U  they  bay  I "  she  ejaculated  ;  and  that 
was  all  that  she  said.  But  this  was  enough  for 
Uncle  Moses.  Joy  and  exultation  illumined  his 
eyes. 

"  Say,"  said  he,  in  bold,  manly,  and  defiant  tones. 
"  Who  cares  what  they  say  ?  I  don't.  You  need 
not.  I'll  talk  to  'era.  Don't  vou  fret.  It'll  be  all 
right.  I'll  take  all  the  responsibility,  an'  you  will 
be  all  my  life  to  me  what  you  have  been  for  these 
last  few  weeks  —  a  ministering  angel,  a  heavenly 
comfort,  a  sweet  companion  —  everything." 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  friends  of  this  af- 
fectionate pair  when  they  learned  the  news.  Ver- 
non and  Gracie  were  so  evidently  in  love  that  no 
one  expected  anything  else  of  them,  though  not  a 
single  soul  had  susp  3ted  this  of  Uncle  Moses  and 
Miss  Lee.  But  the  first  surprise  soon  passed  away, 
and  then  every  one  felt  very  well  satisfied.  Mr. 
Lee  was  glad  that  his  sister  had  at  length  met  with 
some  one  who  could  make  her  happy ;  Gracie  was 
full  of  affectionate  sympathy,  and  poured  forth  the 
warmest  congratulations ;  while  all  the  boys  re- 
joiced over  the  happiness  of  their  beloved  Uncle 


MARRIAGE.  323 

Moses.  His  adventures  in  foreign  parts  had 
brought  him  little  else  than  misery,  but  now  he 
would  be  amply  repaid  for  all  that  ho  had  en- 
dured. 

These  things  caused  a  further  delay  in  Venice, 
but  at  length  there  came  an  end  to  their  stay.  The 
two  bridegrooms  led  to  the  altar  their  blushing 
brides,  and  then,  after  an  affectionate  adieu  to  their 
friends,  the  boys  departed  with  Uncle  Moses  and 
their  new  aunt. 


